Children of the Stars
by CSIGurlie07
Summary: One year after the events of "Reaching for Stars", Project Giza is coming to a close. But when a Goa'uld steps through the Stargate, they are forced back into action. Can they protect the Earth from the threats still lurking in the far reaches of the Galaxy? NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

The elevator doors opened with a soft _ding_, and Sam Carter let a small sigh of contentment escape her. Before her the halls stretched out, spidering through the base of the mountain. They were nearly empty, a far cry from what it had been a year ago. And what a year it had been.

Project Giza had been a success, as far as Sam was concerned. Though she hadn't been present when the ancient device activated, that didn't dispute the fact that it had. There was video footage and more data than Sam knew what to do with. She was still sorting through it all, a year later, but the military had asked her to focus on getting the device to engage again, this time to another planet. At first, her team had been eager, excited to learn more about the artifact. But very quickly, it became evident that the Joint Chiefs were less concerned about scientific discovery than they were about the threat the artifact posed.

Some called for the Stargate's burial. Others desired to know if other aliens like Ra existed, or if there were other threats that might somehow find their way to Earth. A scant few welcomed the new knowledge that could come from the artifact itself, and between them and those who wanted to know what threats were out there managed to shout loudly enough that the Joint Chiefs allowed them a year to get another planet locked and loaded. In compromise to those predominantly concerned with security, Sam had helped to design a shield that would sit across the Stargate's aperture. When closed, nothing would be able to rematerialize on Earth's side of the wormhole. It was on the verge of completion… probably within the next week it would be shipped piecemeal to Cheyenne Mountain and installed.

It was military paranoia at its best, but Sam understood the risk they faced. The might of the United States military, or any other military on Earth, was hopelessly underprepared to face an alien threat. Ra and his forces had wielded weapons more powerful than the ballistic weapons Jack and his team had used. If there were more beings like Ra, enemies who might try to invade the planet, then what could Earth do to repel them? The shield was a strong preventative measure, but if it was breached… Sam didn't want to think about what would happen.

She preferred to focus on the positive outlook of searching for viable addresses. If there were Stargates on other planets, perhaps one or more of those worlds belonged to a benevolent advanced people who might share their knowledge, their technology. Earth could find allies, or perhaps even meet the creators of the Stargates themselves. Their understanding of the universe was lightyears beyond what Earth could presently comprehend: a shiver coursed down Sam's spine at the thought of what she might learn from them.

It didn't matter now, Sam mused, making her way down to her lab. In the year following Jack's return from Abydos, nothing they tried had raised a single viable address. Project Giza was in its final moments; the military saw no point in wasting valuable resources towards finding additional destinations, no matter how furiously Sam argued in its favor. Her random dialing protocol had yielded no tangible results, and in light of that they were satisfied that Jack's team had eliminated the threat. Slowly over the past three to four months equipment and personnel had vanished, moved and reassigned to other, more fruitful endeavors.

Even Catherine Langford hadn't set foot on the base in nearly a year. When Jack had returned from Abydos without Daniel Jackson, the old archaeologist had willingly removed herself from the program. Sam supposed it was small consolation that Jack had given Dr. Langford the truth of Jackson's fate, to know that Doctor Jackson still lived, but had chosen to remain on Abydos, agreeing to bury the Stargate on the desert planet to give Earth the impression that it had been destroyed. The military believed Jackson dead, and only Sam, Catherine, Jack, and his men knew the truth.

And as of two weeks ago, Sam was the only member of the original Project Giza science team to remain at Cheyenne Mountain. Well, herself, and—

"Morning, Doctor Carter," Sly Siler greeted, delivering a small smile. The Air Force Sergeant wasn't the type to be emotive in terms of facial expressions, but after three years of working with him, Sam knew the greeting was heartfelt. "Been a good one?"

"So far," she returned easily. When she'd woken to find Jack making her an omelet in the kitchen stark naked, her morning had quickly turned into one of the best mornings she'd had in a while. Fighting a blush, Sam tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. When he had returned from Abydos, Jack had promised he would get help in healing from his experience as a POW in Iraq. In the past year, he had remained true to his word, and was more like himself than ever. This morning had surprised her. When his therapist had suggested medical discharge, Jack had accepted. And though it was his decision, and something he seemed to welcome, Sam knew the discharge bothered him.

"Well, not for long," Sly warned, blinking blandly at her as she refocused her attention. "The new General wants to see you in his office ASAP."

Sam grimaced. General West's reassignment hadn't come as a surprise when it was announced six months ago. The glares he'd thrown her during his final weeks at the mountain meant he no doubt blamed her for it, but she hadn't had to do a thing. After all, if she'd been able to connect the dots between him and her father, then others would too. West's career was at a standstill, and he would likely be forced into retirement within the next six months.

"You met him?" she asked, curious. Siler nodded. "What's he like?"

The Sergeant shrugged. "Decent enough," he hedged carefully. "Not nasty, but I get the sense he's not all that impressed with the whole thing. Word is he's just baby-sitting the place until his retirement comes through."

It figured. Like West's reassignment, it wasn't unexpected. Sam would have appreciated a General who shared her enthusiasm about what the project could significantly mean. The Stargate had introduced them to alien life, and had unlocked a secret of human history that no one other than Daniel Jackson had ever suspected before. But Sam hadn't made any friends a year ago; she knew she was lucky not to have been exiled from the project entirely when she had confronted West about sending Jack through the Stargate. And she was luckier still that she would be allowed to continue her work even after leaving the mountain. The Pentagon waited for her, where she would continue her analysis of the data gathered from the Stargate's first and only activation. Jack would be coming with her back to Washington D.C., and they were both glad to be returning to the city in which they'd first met. By the time they settled in the Nation's Capital, Jack's medical discharge will have its final approval, and Jack was nothing but supportive of both her work and the impending move.

Until she made the move to DC, Sam knew she would have to play nice with the new General on base. With a word of thanks to Sergeant Siler, she made her way past him to her office. She swiped her keycard in the slot, and the metal bulkhead opened to reveal a dark, mostly empty lab. Bare counters stood, devoid of the machines and equipment that had once cluttered her workspace. To dispel the unsettling quiet of the room, Sam clicked play on the CD player she had brought from home. Strains of a languid string concerto accompanied her as she put her bag away. She took her time in hanging up her jacket and slipping into her white lab coat. The General could wait a few more minutes.

Once she had taken a brief glance through the overnight data reports and found no alerts to look into, Sam forced herself to leave the sanctuary of her lab and make her way towards the General's office. She twisted her long hair into a braid as she walked to the elevator. With her hair pulled back, the cool chill of the mountain's recycled air brushed her cheeks, waking her up and sharpening her senses. A rush of adrenaline tingled in her fingers. The new General might try to intimidate her, bully her, but she was ready to meet his challenge if necessary.

The conference room was empty when she entered, and when she peeked through the window into the General's office, she saw only the man's rotund belly; the leather-seated wingback chair hid his features from view. A manila folder lay open in his lap; Sam recognized it as being the report Jack's team had submitted last year. Seeing it made Sam's mind jump into overdrive, wondering at warp speed whether she was going to be quizzed on its contents, if the General suspected the report was falsified. Even as her thoughts continued to speed along, she hesitated only a millisecond to knock before letting herself into the General's office.

The new Base Commander didn't look up at her entrance. Sam had been aiming to get a rise out of him, and a wave of frustration poured through her briefly at being ignored. She resisted the urge to clear her throat, accepting that her play hadn't worked. She waited for a long five count before breaking the silence.

"You wanted to see me, General?" If there was a note of disrespect in her tone, Sam didn't mind. In the past, antagonism had been the only she'd been able to communicate with West on equal footing.

"Don't you take that tone with_ me_, Samantha Carter." The reprimand came sharp and incisive, made all the more lethal by the unprofessional use of her given name. The chair swung around to reveal a bald General with blue eyes that flashed in the fluorescent illumination of the lamps above. At the moment his gaze was stern, but familiar to Sam in a way she didn't expect. "You might have gotten away with it with my predecessor in this command, but I won't stand for it."

Sam blinked, taken aback by the scolding. Outrage briefly bubbled up at the treatment, but then simmered away as the haze of time parted, and the years of wrinkles melted from the General's features. Realization warmed her, and her bristling attitude bled away from her. _"Uncle George?!"_

General George Hammond broke into a huge grin, his eyes now sparkling with warmth. He rose from his seat to meet her as she came around his desk for a hug. His embrace was just as she now remembered: firm, reassuring, and as welcoming as ever. Sam accepted the embrace enthusiastically, throwing her arms around the man's large bulk. As soon as she was ensconced she felt the same warmth of love she'd felt when she was a child, freely bestowed from the man who had been a part of the Carter family for most of her childhood.

"You can't imagine my shock when I realized you were the Doctor Samantha Carter everyone's been up in arms about," the man declared, not yet relinquishing his hold on her. She gave him an affectionate squeeze, and it was then that he released her to put her at arms' length, examining her. "You've grown quite a bit since I last saw you."

Sam smiled, but her mind was already spooling back to their last encounter. It had been so long ago, it must have been… The Christmas before her mom died. That was the last time she'd seen Mr. and Mrs. Hammond. They might have been at the funeral, but that day—and the weeks surrounding it—was still a blur of grief and loss. If she'd seen the General there, she didn't remember.

"You look so much like your mother," George observed, his voice softening as a callused palm cupped her cheek. Sam looked up into eyes that glowed with affection and warmth. "We were so sorry to miss the funeral."

So they hadn't been there after all. George had probably been stationed on the East Coast by that time, and perhaps even deployed overseas. Unlike her father, Uncle George had never been able to say goodbye to the military. Sam shrugged. "It's okay… It was a long time ago."

"Martha wanted to be there for you and Mark," the General said. "For you, most of all. We tried to get back in touch when my assignment ended, but…"

Sam let a knowing smile curl her lips. "We were busy," she supplied. The race for the White House had been rough and time consuming—an escape for both of them. "My father never mentioned you tried to speak with us." If he had, Sam would have made time for her godparents. In the days following her mother's death, she would have been glad for the comfort.

"Well, there's no use dwelling, is there?" The General rubbed her shoulders but took the opportunity to pull away, resuming the professional distance between them though his eyes didn't lose their twinkle of familiarity. Sam returned to the far side of the General's desk, and took a seat in the visitor's chair. The tension that had gathered at the base of her neck had vanished in George's presence, and Sam couldn't fight the smile that tugged at her lips.

She relaxed back into her seat, crossing her legs at the knee as she met the elder man's gaze. "Rumor has it that you're retiring," Sam remarked, soaking in the sight of her godfather sitting behind the CO's desk. Under West's purview, the old-world décor of rich wood and gleaming leather had been an overbearing boast as to his status in the chain of command. The man in front of her now though wore the room like a second skin. Though he would likely not stay here long, Sam couldn't think of a better man for the position, and his ease in this room was a testament to that.

Her godfather's eyes twinkled happily. "You heard right. Finally getting out of the business. It's high time I let country take a backseat to my granddaughters."

Sam's lips lifted in a broad smile. "Terry has kids now? Wow…"

"Two. Tessa, the oldest, and Kayla." A low chuckle escaped the General. "Those two are almost as much of a handful as you were at their age." His eyes fell to his clasped hands atop his desk. "I missed a lot of Terry's childhood because of the military. I don't want to waste any more time playing a younger man's game."

Sam nodded. "This project is glad to have you, General. If only for a few months."

"It means a lot to hear that," Hammond responded honestly. "Especially from you, Sam. I'm not fool enough to think you don't run this show down here."

"It's just monitoring these days," she hedged. The computer protocols that periodically dialed the Stargate were largely automated now, and she simply read the data readouts that resulted from each failed attempt. "As you've probably been briefed, our efforts to connect to a planet besides Abydos haven't yielded any success thus far."

Hammond quickly picked up on the disappointment in her voice. "Why do you think it hasn't been making a connection?" he asked, spreading his hands over his desk. "The briefing stated you were fairly certain that it was capable of doing so."

"It's difficult to pinpoint any one possible cause. Our understanding of the Stargate's mechanics is superficial at best. We really don't know very much about it," Sam confessed, flushing slightly.

The mysteries of the Stargate inspired her, but her influence with the project had inevitably cast her as the "expert". And when politicians and military brass realized how little even their expert knew, they doubted her, and her work. Their respect quickly soured to skepticism, and from then on Sam had to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of funding. But George Hammond's features didn't shift to ridicule. On the contrary, his eyes remained riveted on her, as intently as though she held the key to the most elaborate strategic maneuver in history.

"It could be we don't have enough energy to reach a destination further than Abydos. Or it could be a matter of software: the artifact has been buried for thousands of years, and it could be its original calibrations are off. If that's the case, and I suspect it is, we don't have enough data points to recalculate. That's why I've been hoping we'll get lucky."

"But you're certain that it _is_ capable of reaching other destinations?"

Sam nodded. "The truth is, there are only seven constellations in the address for Abydos. If the Stargate was meant to go only there… then why are there a total of 39 symbols on the device?"

It was a question that had kept her pushing, searching for answers when repeated failures and external pressure from military overseers begged for her to abandon the project. No other scientific endeavor had consumed her so completely; if not for Jack's presence at home, Sam suspected she might have otherwise spent most, if not all her time in the mountain. Glancing at the General, she saw a twinkle in his eye that hinted he had some idea of the compelling thrill of mystery that drew her to the Stargate.

The comfortable quiet between them was broken when Sam's watch beeped the hour. George smiled, sheepish. "I won't keep you any longer," he said apologetically. Sam was ready to protest, eager to spend more time catching up with her godfather, but the General stood, and she knew he was back on duty. She respected the shift in authority, and rose as well. He surprised her when he next spoke. "Why don't you join Martha, Terry, and me for dinner later this week? I think I can convince Terry to bring the kids with her."

Sam beamed, a rush of warmth flooding through her. Her eyes burned as tears swelled to the surface. Since her mom her died she had missed the encompassing love of a full family. It had seemed as though her mom had been her father's counterweight; when she was gone, Jacob Carter had spun off into the deep end of the political world. Sam had gone right along with him, and hadn't truly realized how far they'd drifted until he turned his back on her.

But now here George Hammond was, almost ten years gone, enveloping her into his family. Like nothing had changed. He was still the same gentle, warm person she remembered him being. And like the unconditional love she'd found with Jack, she almost believed she deserved it.

"I'd like that," Sam said, fighting the rasp of growing tears. She offered a smile. "I'd really like that."

George put his hands on her shoulders, features creased with happiness. "And I know Martha would love to meet your Jack O'Neill. Bring him along too."

Sam nodded in acquiescence. "I will." The conversation drawn to a close, Hammond straightened, his hands falling to his sides.

"Go find us some more planets to visit," he urged playfully. "I expect a full report tomorrow."

She responded to the tease in his voice with a roll of her eyes. "Aye, aye, General," she drawled, moving towards the door.

"Sam."

She stopped, pausing at the door to glance back over her shoulder. General Hammond met her gaze, solemn but for the honest joy in his eye.

"It's good to see you."

"You too, Uncle George."

Sam left with a smile on her lips, and a bounce in her step. Jack was going to get a kick out of this when she told him. Briefly, she wondered if having dinner with a high-ranking General might make him feel uncomfortable, what with his pending discharge. He'd be fine, she decided after a moment's consideration. Jack seemed to partially look forward to getting out of the military, and she doubted George would allow the conversation to stray too much into the purview of the military—Martha Hammond had always been very strict about keeping work away from the dinner table.

"Uncle George… Who'd have thunk?" she said aloud to an empty control room. A couple of lights flashed, but the computers remained silent, and Sam shrugged. "Go figure."

Of all the retiring Generals who could have been assigned here, she couldn't have asked for a better fit. The George Hammond she remembered had been loyal to the military, to a fault when it sometimes came to his family, but he'd always done his best to be there. For both his own daughter Terry, and for Sam, he had been a pillar of support. And from the stories Sam's father used to tell, he was also a fair man, abiding by a code of honor he felt befitting a man of the uniform. She only wished he could see an active wormhole, so he could fully appreciate what she was trying to do. Heck, she wished _she _could see an active wormhole. It was something she envied Jack; she envied his experience inside the phenomena even more so. Not that she would ever tell him that.

Sam fingered the metal dog tag that still hung around her neck. It bore Jack's name, but was as much a part of her identity as it was a part of his. She hadn't taken it off since the day he'd given it to her more than two years ago, in place of a ring she'd refused to accept. She couldn't accept his proposal while he was on the front lines; if he asked now, though, she knew what her answer would be. With his medical discharge imminent, Jack had been talking about his future, about moving on to something better. She secretly hoped that _something better_ included her, a home, and a family. Maybe a dog.

The blinking light of the waiting computer drew Sam's attention back to her purpose, and she sighed away her sudden melancholy. Work first, she told herself as she logged into the cold dial program. Then, since it was Friday she would go home early. Jack had an appointment with his therapist until five, but a few extra hours would give her the chance to cook one of the new recipes she wanted to try. Maybe they could even catch a movie on the TV. A quiet night in would be a good end to a quiet week.

A quick glance told her everything was up to par with the dialing program. It was running as it should, as it had been for the past eleven months. With a mental shrug, Sam consigned herself to reviewing the code over the weekend. For now she busied herself with gathering the equipment she needed to take another electromagnetic reading. Tools in hand, she made her way down to the embarkation room.

"Hey there, Doctor Carter," Sergeant Willard greeted from his seat at the card table, a broad smile on his lips. "Want us to deal you in next hand?"

"Not today, boys," she returned smartly, a grin of her own softening the rejection. "I've got a hot date tonight." That earned her a few whistles, which she waved away with a negligent hand. Most of the players were regulars, men she saw on a daily basis. But there was a new face, however, a woman with the expression of someone thoroughly creeped out. To this woman, she winked. "Careful, Airman. Fields there likes to peek every now and then."

"Aw, come on, Doc," Fields whined, sinking back in his chair as though he hadn't just been leaning to catch a glimpse of the Airman's hand. "Why you gotta call me out like that?"

"Have you forgotten the time you tried to pull one over on me?" she drawled, making her way up the ramp.

Willard was the one who answered. "Not a chance, Doc. That story's been tossed around the commissary way too many times for anyone to ever let him forget it." The burly man turned to the woman seated beside him. "The Doc has a few tricks of her own. Damn near cleaned Fields out the last time he had the guts to play her."

Sam let the happy voices fill the cavernous room, sharing in their warmth. It was reassuring to have them in close proximity. On late nights, all on her own in the stark embarkation room, she'd startled herself more than once with imagined sounds and flickers of movement. The readings she took now were monotonous, tedious and mind-numbing. Nothing ever changed, and she was able to let herself get caught up the camaraderie behind her. She allowed herself to be so distracted that she didn't notice the rumbling of the artifact until the inner ring of symbols began to spin.

A blink let her know that she wasn't imagining it, and the sudden quiet behind alerted her to the fact that she wasn't the only one to have noticed. For a brief moment, she thought the cold-dial program—the same damn program she'd been cursing for weeks—had finally got a hit, but then she glanced at the lit chevrons, and realized that they were engaging far too quickly.

"Doc, get away from that thing!" Willard shouted, but Sam was already moving down the ramp. She counted the seventh chevron and dropped, knowing she hadn't completely cleared the reach of the unstable vortex created by the creation of a wormhole. "Doc!"

"I'm fine!" she yelled, her voice suddenly echoing as the event horizon settled into an even plane. "I'm good!" She pushed off the ramp, regaining her feet in a fluid motion that left her staring at the open wormhole. Was it inbound or outgoing? She couldn't be sure, until she examined the data. Sam peered closer at the event horizon, her feet taking an involuntary step towards it. _Holy Hannah_. The molecular fluctuations of the event horizon were visible to the naked eye. Unbelievable. The power released by the device to generate a stable wormhole was—she smiled, despite herself—_astronomical._

Sergeant Willard's shouts mixed with those of his teammates, ordering her back down the ramp. Before she could comply, a dark round object was lobbed through the shimmering pool of light. Reflex contorted Sam's body as she scrambled back from it, skidding back down onto the ramp, every instinct screaming that it was a danger. It was the right size for a grenade. But instead of exploding, a spray of laser beams dissected the space of the embarkation room in a grid that Sam recognized. It was mapping the place, no doubt sending telemetric data back through the wormhole. Travelers were on the other side, ready to come through.

Instinctive dread mingled with the cerebral anticipation of who might be calling. Jack's report of Abydos, and of Ra, remained sharp in her mind, but even the potential threat could not eclipse the thrill of an alien unknown. It could be an enemy, or it could be the Gate builders, open to exchanging knowledge and technology. In the moment Sam hesitated, chaos erupted.

It happened quickly, and yet flashes of it erupted around her in slow motion. Dark figures stepped through the event horizon, silhouettes of monstrous shapes against the shimmering light. The shouts of her friends as they fell into defensive positions were muffled, far away. But the sound of energy sizzling through the air over her head was sharp and distinct, a stark counterpoint to the screams of the guards as they were hit. Sam stayed low, her mind echoing with what Jack had told her. These were Jaffa, she knew, and though they were fearsome, they were merely men in armor with weapons of terror.

Fighting the beat of her heart as it pulsed in her throat, Sam threw herself off the ramp, more of a tumble than anything else. A heavy arm hooked her around the stomach and heaved her back, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her spine slammed against metal, hard and unforgiving, but when her senses returned she realized she hadn't been thrown to the ramp, but rather clasped tightly to the chest of one of the warriors.

Dazed, she could only watch as Willard shouted in alarm, his eyes on her. His moment of distraction was his undoing. Another blast of light erupted from the tip of the staff weapon, cruising like a missile unerringly through the air, until it connected with his chest. Sam blinked; the Sergeant fell, and did not rise again. His weapon clattered to the floor, useless against alien adversaries. The wormhole disconnected with a snap of absent sound. Only then did Sam realize that while a few of the Jaffa had fallen, _all _of the Air Force soldiers were down—including the unfamiliar woman, who likely wasn't even supposed to be there.

A sob caught in Sam's throat, frozen by the terror continuing to rise within her. A heavy clank caught the attention of everyone left standing, and as one the armored warriors turned towards the incoming traveler. Even in the pale light of the room the glint of gold was evident, a lustrous sheen that set this figure far above the others. The bulk that imprisoned her tensed as the lordly figure approached, straightening in respect; Sam knew then that this was their leader.

She could see now that the odd shape of their helmets imitated the flared hood of a cobra, ready to strike, and red shone where their eyes would be. The garnet gaze of the gilded leader rested on Sam, surveying her even before the figure came to a halt in front of her and the warrior who trapped her in an inhuman grip. A small part of her rose to meet this faceless aggressor; she'd faced bullies in the political arena of global diplomacy, and in that the figure was familiar. But before she could so much as blink a gauntleted fist clutched at her chin, shoving it roughly to the side.

Sam grunted in surprise, nearly missing the pneumatic hiss and clank of the leader's helmet sliding back. In the corner of her eye she glimpsed a human face, accented with heavy lines of black and white. In her memory she saw the textbook pictures of Egyptian pictographs and iconic images of ancient gods. Dread threatened to overtake her, but before it could take a firm hold the fist on her jaw disappeared, allowing her to see exactly what it was that Jack had faced on Abydos.

_Was this Ra?_ In a glance he was little more than a man. His air of lordly power was hardly unfamiliar to her, after years of interacting with diplomats from all over the world. But in the lines and edges of this man's face, Sam detected the hint of cruelty, the mark of a tyrant unchallenged for all his horrific deeds. It struck her as odd that this Ra barely looked at the fortress around him; he did not search for weaknesses, or further plan of attack. He did nothing more than inspect her, and Sam quickly realized that she was in far more danger she'd realized.

That same moment, Ra's eyes flashed—just as Jack reported they had—and he barked an order. His voice was odd, with a strange sound of reverberation in every word. The language was unintelligible to her, but Sam deduced its meaning well enough when another of the warriors walked up to the dormant Stargate and slapped a clunky device against its outer ring. A combination of symbols was pressed on the device itself, and on command a new wormhole snapped into existence. Sam didn't have time to be in awe of the technology before the arms around her tightened, dragging her forcibly towards the wormhole. Sam fought, driven by desperation. She could not allow herself to be taken through the Stargate. She would rather die here in this room than live on a planet with no hope of returning home.

Her captor's grip was unrelenting, but when her heel connected in a solid blow to his shin, she heard a satisfying grunt of muted pain. Her rush of victory was short-lived; Ra turned back to them, the step he took towards her heavy and menacing. His hand lifted in front of her face, fingers spread as though to bless her. There was a stone in the palm of his gauntlet, and it lit with a warm glow that seemed almost comforting.

In the next moment, pain flooded every fiber of her being. She would have screamed had she not been paralyzed, would have squeezed her eyes shut to block out the agony if she could. Instead her last waking sight was of the glowing stone, her final thought the regret that Jack wasn't there with her. She didn't want to die alone.


	2. Chapter 2

The deafening cacophony of the base alarm continued to wail, pulsating the air within the embarkation room in a sinuous whine. It eddied around George Hammond, who was numb to its almost tangible touch. He ripped his gaze away from the dormant Stargate with great effort. Shock disoriented him; a mere five minutes ago, this command was supposed to be his avenue to a well-deserved retirement. Now it was a war zone, and General Hammond felt the shock melt away to unearth his battle-hardened nerves. He turned crisply to the security team leader, a Sergeant he hadn't had the chance to officially meet yet.

"Check for survivors, and make sure _those_," he pointed to the aliens sprawled on the ramp, "are dead."

The security team leader barked a "yes, sir!" and began to shout orders to his men. They moved quickly, and efficiently. Their eyes were wide, the only reaction to the unexpected slaughter. Upon their assignment to this base every man and woman had been briefed on how important it was, and how carefully they needed to keep their guards up. But for the past year, things had been quiet, even boring, and now they saw for themselves just how dangerous the device in front of them was. George was with them. He had seen only the final moments of the attack, after the firefight had already run its course. He'd witnessed just enough to see his goddaughter taken through the Stargate, her body limp in the arms of her captor.

Hammond remained in the embarkation room long enough to see his people's bodies seen too, and the room secured. When the corpses of his enemy were safely contained and transported to the morgue, he followed with a team of SFs. Along the way, he paused, then motioned the security team to follow the alien corpses before he detoured to the science wing.

It was easy to locate Sam's lab. The soft strains of a string quartet led him to the only occupied lab. Motion-sensored lights flickered on when he entered the room, revealing a lonely space that held just a few computers and Sam's personal effects. Hammond temporarily focused on her handbag, letting the music continue to intertwine with the whirr and beep of the equipment. He carefully opened Sam's purse, glancing through its contents briefly to find and remove her cell phone.

He scrolled through her contacts, heading straight to the J's. There was only one name listed—Jack. He didn't dial the number; Hammond simply pocketed the phone. The situation was precarious, and though Captain Jack O'Neill had invaluable experience, George would have to get approval from his commanding officer before he made any phone calls. However, if he were a betting man—and he'd been known to toss a die or two in his day—General Hammond would eat his hat if he wasn't bringing O'Neill back to Cheyenne Mountain before the day was out.


	3. Chapter 3

Doctor Robert Mackenzie wasn't Jack's favorite person in the world. Jack had reported to the man's office for his first session as ordered, but with a healthy predetermined sense of distrust. Apparently, dealing with stubborn military minds was Mackenzie's forte, because before long he'd develop a certain way of asking things that made it easier for Jack to answer. It still felt like pulling teeth, but… still easier than what he imagined the typical headshrink would be like. And Jack never missed a session. When the psychologist asked why he continued to come, even when he so clearly regarded the entire profession as a farce, Jack told him it was because he'd made a promise.

He'd told Sam he would get help, and so he was. Sam was his reason for pushing through his reluctance to speak, the reason he allowed the doctor's gentle pokes and prodding at the dark memories of last year. He relived the anguish of imprisonment, as it featured prominently in his nightmares, but even more horrific was the guilt of those dangerous days when even Sam had become a stranger. Only once did they foray into the off-limits territory of the night he had nearly killed her, and almost murdered her in his sleep, but the memory stabbed him at every single visit. He would go to every appointment and then some, just to keep that nightmarish scene from happening again.

Sam was why he returned, again and again, and she was why he pushed himself to edges of his sanity. When he told Mackenzie as such, he'd had no way of knowing that days later he would be sitting in the General's office, deep within Cheyenne Mountain. He'd hoped he would one day see the Stargate again, but not like this.

When he'd received the phone call three hours ago, he'd thought at first it was a prank. The voice on the other end of the line hadn't given him any details except that he was needed at Cheyenne Mountain. With his discharge pending, Jack had resented the authoritative and snide words ordering him to report to base. He'd actually hung up on that voice. He didn't owe them anything. But when the phone rang again, a different voice spoke to him, gentler and more urgent. He now knew it to be General Hammond's voice, and it had been the General who had uttered the two words that would always grab his attention. _Stargate_, and _Samantha Carter_.

Jack had dropped everything. He'd been prepping for a night in, figuring with her staying so late at work she wouldn't be up for going out. He thought maybe she'd have liked to spend some time tinkering with the old Indian she'd gotten for a song from the owner of the auto shop down the block from the townhouse. But whatever he'd expected before that phone call, this wasn't it. Not even seeing the scene play out on the screen in front of him could help reality penetrate his shock. He stared, watching helplessly as chaos erupted around Sam, surging around her for long, torturous moments before it swallowed her up and swept her back through the Gate.

General George Hammond rewound the security footage before the wormhole could wink out of existence for a final time, and replayed. Again, Jack could only watch as the tallest guard among the invaders snatched Sam up and gripped her in a crushing bear hug. He trapped her there against his plated chest, waiting as his leader made his decision. An agonizing moment later, the leader's golden serpent hood furled back to reveal a human face, and the video paused.

Jack stared at the alien features captured on screen, noting the dramatic lines of makeup that was eerily familiar. But the chin was different; the nose all wrong. The lack of small children acting as personal human shields was also a telling clue. Still, it was discomfiting to see those eyes glow as Ra's had.

The sound of a body shifting in its chair snagged Jack's attention, and he looked up to find General George Hammond looking at him expectantly. Jack held his gaze firmly, confident in his knowledge. "That's not Ra, sir," he said firmly, pointing at the severe features of the leader.

The General's eyebrow arched. "Are you absolutely sure, Captain?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, sir. Close, but no. That's someone else."

Hammond sat back in his stately leather chair with a soft huff. "I don't think I need to tell you that this doesn't come as a relief."

"No, sir." Jack was glad the General believed him—of all the details of his report, Ra's death was one of the few unadulterated facts. But that left this villain as a new threat, an unknown entity. Jack couldn't fathom why it would come through the Stargate, and there was a good chance no one else on Earth knew either. Why Earth? And why take Sam back through the Stargate with him when he left?

Jack shifted in his seat, his gaze sliding to the resumed action on the monitor. Not-Ra shone the light of his wrist device at Sam's forehead, and Jack could only watch as she went limp, and was carried through the Stargate. "Sir, are we…?"

The General anticipated his query and leaned forward, folding his hands atop his desk. "The Joint Chiefs aren't so convinced that this isn't Ra," he said carefully. "Regardless of this man's identity, he is an enemy threat, and we've been ordered to act accordingly." When he met Jack's gaze, his eyes were soft with both regret and understanding. "We have a nuclear warhead prepped and ready to go. We send it through the Stargate at 0500."

Jack froze. "Send it through the Stargate to where?" Alarm overwhelmed the statutes of military respect, and he hastily tacked on an honorific. "Sir."

"To Abydos," came the firm reply. Hammond's hands were folded atop his desk, revealing no sign of reluctance or resistance to his orders.

"Sir, Ra is dead," Jack reiterated. "The Abydos gate was destroyed. Whoever that guy is, he didn't come from there."

"Son, Doctor Carter herself has spent the past year trying to make that device connect to another planet. So far, her efforts have not yielded a single viable address." Hammond spread his hands beseechingly. "Based on that evidence, we have no choice but to operate on the assumption that this threat came from the only known destination."

"That's the wrong move, sir."

The General's eyes hardened at accusation, and Jack knew he had overstepped his bounds. The situation was spiraling, and with every word Jack dug himself deeper. Alarm passed through him, knowing with one look at Hammond's too-straight face that his cover was blown. But he was relieved, too, now that he didn't have any more room to fib. People said the truth will out, and this one was a year in coming.

Seemingly sensing Jack's internal conflict, Hammond proceeded as though he hadn't noticed a thing. "Captain O'Neill, your own report states that the Abydos gate was destroyed. By that fact, if Doctor Carter's theory of wormhole physics is correct, the warhead won't even reintegrate on the other side." Now the General's gaze turned piercing, spearing Jack to the hot seat. "Unless there's something you forgot to mention."

Jack knew it was coming, but the prodding accusation still hit like a sledgehammer. Only his training kept him from flushing, but he knew he failed to keep his guilt hidden when Hammond's features smoothed in acknowledgement. Instinctively, his brain supplied him a line that would easily perpetuate the false report, and absolve him of wrong doing. Hammond might go with it, and with his pending medical discharge Jack doubted anyone else would bother to dig deep enough to see through the deception. And Daniel said they were going to bury the Stargate, and if that were the case the bomb might not have any effect.

But what if, _what if_ this Ra lookalike really had come from Abydos? What if some other alien had come in a bigass spaceship, unburied the Stargate, and had started sending war parties? What if Sam was there right now, waiting? Trapped? If they sent the bomb, it would kill her and every other person on the planet Jack cared about. Skaar'a, his sister and father, and Doctor Jackson. They'd all be dead, because he hadn't come clean. If he told the truth now, he might be able to save Abydos. Maybe he'd save Sam.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. "Sir," he began, straightening to military perfection. "I may have, _omitted_ a few facts from my report…"


	4. Chapter 4

George Hammond twisted uncomfortably in his seat, resettling the red phone against his ear. He'd been on it for the past three hours, long enough for his skin to sweat and adhere to the smooth plastic of the handset. His argument to the Joint Chiefs that Jack O'Neill be included on the search and rescue mission had been met with staunch protest, and to be honest, it had been impossible to fault their logic. Captain O'Neill had falsified official reports, and that after disregarding the mandate of his original mission and left a citizen of the United States behind on an alien planet.

It didn't matter that Jackson had reportedly stayed behind of his own volition. That he did so was only by O'Neill's word, whose trustworthiness was negligible in the eyes of the Joint Chiefs. His men now corroborated his story, but they had done the same a year ago, and there were suspicions that O'Neill had put them up to it both then and now.

But Hammond argued that O'Neill's original mission was unlawful. Not only that, it had been inadequate. It had been wrong to approach O'Neill in the first place—none of the proper protocols had been followed after his rescue from Iraq, and tracing the path of those inconsistencies led so high up in the chain of command that no one was going to look too closely.

On top of that, the suicide mission had failed to properly account for the myriad of possibilities the first expedition might have faced on an alien planet. If the latest account of the mission was to be accepted as truth, it meant that Captain Jack O'Neill had conducted himself with honor and perseverance. He'd survived when a superior officer had been slain, and brought the majority of his team home after going to war against a far more advanced enemy.

O'Neill had invaluable experience with this particular brand of enemy, and that was what George silently told himself as he pushed again and again for the young man's inclusion. It had nothing to do with the fact that it was Sam Carter needing help, that it was Samantha "First Lady" Carter. In fact, that it was Sam Carter only counted another strike against the Captain. Their ongoing relationship was well-known now, and many doubted O'Neill's ability to remain objective.

But it was O'Neill who had won the trust and admiration of the Abydonian people, he who had led them to victory against seemingly insurmountable odds. He knew the lay of the land, and was the only remaining member of the expedition who had been inside the alien mothership, and lived to tell about it. That made him invaluable, and despite the strikes against him, it all boiled down to the cold hard truth that he was still the best source of intel they had on this new enemy.

For the better part of an hour he had plead his case—Jack O'Neill's case—to the Joint Chiefs and the President. It was like hitting his head against a brick wall. Too many only saw the evidence of O'Neill's trustworthiness. But enough of the right people came around to Hammond's way of thinking, and fortunately the recently inaugurated President was one of them.

"Thank you very much, Mr. President," George delivered crisply, effectively bringing the conversation to a close as soon as the Joint Chiefs conceded the match. "I will inform you as soon as we learn anything more." He paused, listening. He nodded. "Yes, sir."

Hammond looked up at the sound of knuckles rapping on his door. Recognizing the figure awaiting entrance, he motioned for the Major to enter. George motioned for him to sit, his attention returning to the red phone at his ear. "Yes, sir," he directed to the President. "Yes, sir, he just arrived. I'll keep the Joint Chiefs informed of any and all developments. Thank you, sir."

He hung up, and focused his attention entirely on his visitor. Major Frank Cromwell's record was nearly impeccable. It was self-recrimination that weighted the Major's features, highlighting the craggy shadows and pitted scar across one temple. Hammond could tell with one look that this man was a good one; he took on the guilt of his choices, though on paper those choices were all simply the lesser of two evils. Had Cromwell been free of that burden, the General might have been concerned, but he was not, and Hammond recognized that he was a logical choice to lead the expedition. He had history with several of the team; it was the history with one man in particular that worried Hammond the most.

"Well, Major, I don't think I need to tell you how delicate this situation is," Hammond began, fixing Cromwell with a long look. The Major adjusted the seat of his cover where it sat on his knee.

"I'm familiar with both Captain O'Neill and Doctor Carter," he said carefully. Hammond was careful to keep the wince from his features at hearing mention of Sam. Despite O'Neill's faulty report of the original mission, and the history behind his assignation to the first expedition, it was truly Samantha who put the fuse on this powder keg.

Her father, Jacob Carter, was out of the White House, but the events of the previous year had put her back in the media spotlight. Reports of her assault and battery at the hands of a mysterious assailant had graced the tabloids for months, and even now he knew she still had the occasional run-in with an overzealous paparazzo. And not only that, she still had several concerned parties in the current command structure. This time, those parties had worked in Hammond's favor and prevented her capture from being written off as a loss, but it was another added pressure, another round of ammunition against the command structure and Jack O'Neill.

"The Joint Chiefs have authorized Jack O'Neill to be included in the expedition," Hammond explained. "His prior interaction with the people of Abydos is invaluable." Two others of the original team to go through the Stargate had been assigned to the expedition as well, but by all accounts Jack O'Neill had formed the closest bonds with the people of Abydos. He had led them to victory, helped free them from the destructive whims of a tyrant; their resulting adulation may be a beneficial edge if there was more on the desert planet than some nomads and an archaeologist.

It seemed Major Cromwell agreed with the tactical merit of the decision. "I welcome his experience and input," he said without a trace of falsehood. "From the day he was assigned to my team, Captain O'Neill has served with dedication and sound judgement."

General Hammond took advantage of the Major's mention of his prior history with O'Neill to voice the question he and the Joint Chiefs needed to know. "Major, it's a matter of record that Captain O'Neill was captured by enemy forces while under your command." Cromwell's features darkened further at the reminder of his failure. "I am prepared to forgo the usual counseling sessions for the both of you, given the circumstances, but only _if _you can convince me that your past history will not be a liability in the field."

George Hammond wasn't born yesterday. He had no doubt that Cromwell had been selected in no small part as a deterrent to O'Neill's passionate insistence in joining the rescue efforts. The young officer hadn't let it deter him, but that did not change the fact that O'Neill had been used and forsaken by his superiors a year ago, and Hammond would not allow it to happen again. If Frank Cromwell could not similarly move beyond their history, then he would not go through the Stargate. Hammond would go through himself before he let that happen.

"Sir, I can't say I'm pleased about the circumstances in which O'Neill gained his…" The Major searched for the appropriate term, "off-world experience. I don't like that he was cleared for duty without being evaluated for PTSD. But if Captain O'Neill is anything like Ms. Carter, then I firmly believe he is the best chance for the Doctor's survival."

"Please explain yourself, Major."

"I personally delivered news of Captain O'Neill's death to Dr. Carter last year, sir." Cromwell shrugged his eyebrows as he recalled the scene in his mind. "I've seen people faint, collapse, deny it, beg for it not to be true. Some of them scream, but others can't say anything."

The General let a smile curl his lips. "Let me guess…"

"She told me to go straight to hell, yes sir. Said that if I wasn't going to help get O'Neill back, then she'd do it on her own." Frank leaned back in his seat, sighing deeply. "And she did, sir. I did my best to grease some wheels, but she was the one who located that prison. The Brits might have been the ones to extract him and Ferretti, but I have no doubt that it was Carter who gave them the coordinates. If Jack has even half that kind of dedication, sir, then he's not going to rest until he brings her home. He won't leave a single stone unturned. And when we're dealing with aliens and other planets a goddamn space travel… I think that kind of focus is exactly what we'll need the most."

Hammond considered the information. Perhaps Cromwell was right. With such bizarre, out-of-this-world circumstances, the unorthodox decision to include O'Neill might actually tip the scales in Sam's favor. But not all of Hammond's doubts could be so easily erased. There were more people involved that just Sam, more than just Jack. He was about to send a half-dozen Airmen across the galaxy, and if he put the wrong man out there with them, it could be a recipe for disaster.

"Do you think Captain O'Neill will be able to accept your command, Major?"

At this, Cromwell faltered. A moment later, he squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin. "I'd like to speak to him, sir, and find out," he said stoutly. "If he has a problem with me, I'll know it."


	5. Chapter 5

Sam stared up at the small window nested high in the smooth stone wall. The room around her was quiet and dark, dark enough that she could see the dusty spatter of the Milky Way painted across the blackened sky. The stars had been a refuge for her, once. As a child, she'd stared through her telescope when her parents argued, more frequently as she grew older and her father's politic career had created more strain on their home. Later, the mysteries of the stars had thrilled her. She'd devoted her life to discovering the universe's secrets. But now, not a single constellation was familiar, and the Milky Way had an unearthly tint to it, faintly distorted by an alien atmosphere.

The universe was huge. Vast. On Earth its size had called her, but now it was frightening. She was very far from home, and she knew better than anyone that Earth didn't have the ability to track the source of incoming wormholes. There was little chance of rescue coming. Even if a mission was launched, where could they look?

What would they tell Jack? The truth? Perhaps, given his role in the first expedition to Abydos. But with his pending discharge, the Air Force might not give him any more consideration than any other next-of-kin. He might get a doctored story of an accident in the lab, or left to wonder for the rest of his life what might have actually happened. The possibilities of that bleak future made Sam's heart clench. Her fingers traced the edges of the dogtag around her neck, taking solace in its familiarity. When she had woken in this room, she'd been re-dressed in clothes not her own, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. She'd found the tag later, discarded and forgotten on the stone floor, still threaded onto its beaded chain. She clung to it now, but was careful to keep it from sight.

Sam doubted Jack would stand for anything less than the truth, and with her gone he had nothing to lose. He would push and dig and demand answers, but even he got them, what could he do? Even if he got the full story, the trail ended in Cheyenne Mountain, in a facility now millions of lightyears away from her.

She may never see him again. She could live out the rest of her life in this opulent prison, and never come within a lightyear of him again. Panic clawed at her, but it was beaten back by the sound of her father's voice in her mind, imparting the words of wisdom he's shared with her in a rare moment of privacy.

"You are your own defense," he'd told her. "They can only get you if you let them."

At the time, he had been soothing her agitation at having been followed by paparazzi all day. But now it emboldened her, just as it had before. She had two options.

She could sit here and despair her lack of rescue, or she could find her own way home. She'd brought Jack back from Iraq, when everyone told her she couldn't. Impossible, they'd said. Now the only person to tell her she couldn't was herself. She'd ignored everyone a year ago, and now she ignored the dark whisper portending her doom. She slid from her cushioned seat with a sly look towards the guards at the entrance.

She was Samantha Carter, and she had a planet to get back to.


	6. Chapter 6

The base was busier than it had been in months. Gear was being carted to different parts of the facility, and every airman moved with purposeful intent. They all had jobs to do, and Frank Cromwell was no different. Dodging a passing FRED, he nodded to Sergeant Siler's apology and darted across the harried corridor to the men's locker room. The tiled room was shadowed, reassuringly quiet amidst the hubbub that had consumed the rest of the SGC. As he'd suspected, he wasn't the first to seek refuge.

Two dark figures sat on a wooden bench, their shadows bowed over their knees, as though praying. Except Frank knew these men, and they were not the type to pray. Both lifted heavy heads at his entrance, their eyes gleaming briefly in the light of the corridor before the door closed behind him. They recognized his silhouette, like good soldiers did. Kawalsky rose slowly, one hand giving his friend's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he stepped away. He plucked his helmet from the bench, giving Frank a nod as he passed. "Sir."

"Captain."

The exchange was familiar and brief, punctuated by the sound of the door opening and closing a second time. He and Jack were left alone, for the first time in a year. A week ago, Frank would have welcomed the chance to speak with Captain O'Neill. But now, considering the circumstances that afforded him this opportunity, he didn't know what to say. There was no point in trying to dissuade Jack from joining the expedition even if Frank had a mind to. It would be equally pointless to warn him of the possibility Sam Carter might already be dead. Jack already knew the odds, but it didn't change anything.

And so all that left was empty promises, vows Frank knew he might not be able to fulfill. He might want to swear that they wouldn't return until they found Sam half a dozen men going through the Stargate had families to return to. Jack's life might have slipped through the Stargate along with Sam, but Frank's duty was split between trying to find Sam and ensuring that his men returned to their lives here on Earth. He'd failed to bring a man home a year ago, and he was well aware that this time he was even more likely to fail. If Jack O'Neill was still as smart as he was a year ago, then he knew it too.

"Don't worry about it, sir."

Jack's voice was stronger than Frank might have thought it would be. It cut through the dark like a knife. Frank crossed his arms over his chest, swallowing his unease. "How do you mean, Captain?"

Jack rose from his seat, facing Frank with the bearing he'd expect from any disciplined Air Force officer. "I know you're wondering if I can hack it in the field." A wry grin could be heard in his voice, but it lacked the humor that was once an O'Neill trademark. "Bet you weren't all that thrilled to have the General tell you I was going to be tagging along… But don't worry. My head's in the game."

"Is it?" _Crap. _Of course the first thing out of his mouth would be an accusation that was condescending as hell. "Look, Jack. I don't wanna knock you on this. You're going to be my single best resource out there… But I need to know you're not going to go off road on me."

Jack tilted his head. "I won't jeopardize the mission, sir."

"I'm not going to sit back and do nothing while she's out there, Frank." Dark shoulders lifted, barely discernible in the low light of the locker room. "I just can't."

Hesitation kept Frank from responding right away. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have doubted the vow of professionalism for a second. But this wasn't the same man he'd worked with over a year ago. The desert changes any man, and Jack had gotten it in a bad way. And the fact that it was Samantha Carter amped everything up to an eleven. He hadn't realized the bond Jack had with his girl back home until he'd been the one to inform her of his death, and he knew he was facing the same thing all over again. The only difference between then and now was that Dr. Samantha Carter had allowed herself to cry.

But the Doctor had gotten Jack back, and if given the chance, Frank honestly believed that Jack was Carter's best hope as well. Finally, Frank nodded. "All right. Gear up. We step out in twenty."

When Jack joined Frank and the rest of the team out in the embarkation room fifteen minutes later, his rifle was strapped across his chest, and his features solemn and focused. He was calm, and met Frank's gaze with a nod. Captain O'Neill stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Captain Kawalsky, accepting the shoulder bump of Lieutenant Ferretti. The three men had gone to Abydos the first time around, and between the three of them they could be the assets that gave this hopeless mission a glimmer of possible success.

Who knew? Maybe they'd be able to pull this off after all.

Frank turned to watch the MALP trundle up the embarkation ramp and heard it slurp through the event horizon of the wormhole. Behind him the room was silent except for the subtle crackle and hum of electricity as it coursed through the device looming before him. His men stood ready and vigilant, waiting for the magic words.

"You have a go, men," General Hammond announced through the speakers. "Good luck, and Godspeed."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: This is another short chapter, so I'll be nice and post another one in a few minutes. I know this story is a bit slower than some of the my other fics, but it's a new style I'm trying out. You'll have to let me know how you like it when it's completed!_

* * *

The clang of boots marching down the corridor towards the harem instantly chased away the fatigue that had settled in Sam's bones. The other girls woke, gasping and chittering in fear. None of them spoke English, or any other Earthbound language Sam had tried to use to communicate. Between the failure of that, and finding no escape from the small number of rooms sectioned off for their prison, the past day had proven fruitless. Sam had seen binary moons pass through the sliver of window high overhead since the sun had last set, and she suspected that the days on this planet were longer than Earth's. But the tiredness evaporated quickly, and Sam rose from her seat just as the cadre of warriors breached their temporary sanctuary.

"Jaffa, kree!" The warrior at the forward point of the crisp formation was tall and broad-shoulder, large even amongst his peers. He seemed to have rank on the others; without the serpent-shaped helmets to obscure their features, Sam could see a golden tattoo on his brow—his companions bore similar marks, though theirs were a matte black. She noticed that these footsoldiers kept their chins high, though their eyes didn't stray around the room. It was odd that none of them. Every woman in the room was beautiful, yet none of the soldiers seemed tempted in the least.

The leader, though, he let his gaze pass over each of them, inspecting them. His eyes met Sam's for an instant—the fierce clarity in them surprised her. She held the gaze for a moment, until some sense of self-preservation urged her to look away. But she blinked first, and in the next instant his attention passed to the next girl. Her heart pounded in her chest, thudding madly as she struggled to maintain her composure. In the absence of an escape route, she'd intended to reason with the next person who entered the room. But one look at this man sent jolts of alarm up and down her spine, shaking her resolve.

"This one!" The leader's voice thundered suddenly through the room, shocking many of the women who recoiled sharply at his words. A gauntleted finger pointed at a girl cowering in the corner, her face a mask of fear. Two men with black tattoos strode forward as soon as their leader spoke, surging forward to grip the woman by the arms and drag her to the center of the room.

Sam stepped forward, a protest bubbling in her throat. She didn't know what she could do, or what she might say. Fear still gripped her, but the terror on the woman's face overwhelmed the voice in her head telling her to stay quiet and unnoticed. "Wait—"

Hands pulled at her, dragging her away from the tableau unfolding in front of her. The lead guard heard her abbreviated call and locked eyes with her for split second before she was swamped by bodies and skirts as the other women pulled her down onto a nearby cushion, forming a wall of hugging bodies between her and the guards. One knelt beside her, shaking her head to indicate silence. A soft voice murmured soothing words that were unintelligible, but Sam deduced their meaning regardless.

A choice had been made, and she was lucky it hadn't been her. Whatever was intended for the woman the guards dragged pleading and sobbing from the room, the others were relieved they had been spared. By the time the women relaxed once more, and dispersed to their beds, quiet had resumed.

Sam crawled across the cushion towards the wall, pressing her back against the cool, smooth surface. She tilted her head back, staring up at the window. The stars faded with the coming dawn, leaving her alone with the pale light of day. When her neck began to ache, she brought her knees up against her chest and leaned her head atop them, turning her head to stare at the entrance. Two guards still kept watch; they were silent and would not offer a single word to her. She'd tried to speak with them the previous day, but they had merely shoved her away.

Now she waited for the broad-shouldered guard to return. He didn't. The women around her rose again near mid-morning, continuing about their confined lives as though nothing had happened. The woman who had been pulled from the room never returned.


	8. Chapter 8

Abydos was just as hot as Jack remembered. Even inside the temple, the air seared against his frozen skin, which was still frosty from the wormhole. His breath evaporated quickly, and soon the ice was water dripping from his nose. But when Daniel Jackson and his army of kids popped out from behind the columns lining the hall, Jack felt an inexplicable rush of relief. They were okay. And all of the ones he remembered from the year before were still alive. They were vigilant, but the pieces of comfort he saw spread out in front of the Stargate—a fire pit, furs spread out across the stone floor, and long blankets strung up between the pillars for privacy—told Jack that there was no threat on this planet.

And just like that, his relief was stained with disappointment. If there was no threat here, then that meant Sam wasn't either. He forced a grin as Jackson came to greet him, resplendently native in his sand-crusted robes and smudged glasses. His skin was also much darker than Jack remembered it being, tanned by the unforgiving desert suns. It suited the geeky guy, though, as did the happy contentment seated in Daniel's features as he approached.

"Jack," came the slightly hesitant greeting. "Didn't expect to be seeing you so soon."

Jack shifted his weight to one foot, letting his rifle rest against its sling. "Neither did I," he returned, canting his chin slightly. Daniel examined him, and suddenly Jack doubted very much that he was fooling the man at all. But his reprieve came in the form of Skaara, who skidded to a halt in front of him just in time to snap him a skewed, but enthusiastic salute.

"Skaara," Jack greeted, returning the gesture.

"O'Neel!" the youth crowed, grinning madly. "I did not think to be seeing you!"

"Neither did I," Jack repeated, taking his helmet off to wipe the sweat from his brow. Already it was starting to bead, threatening to drip into his eyes. "But it looks like Daniel here has been taking care of things—"

"Jackson!"

"Hey, Skaara!"

Kawalsky and Ferretti grinned like idiots as they came closer. Lou tossed Jackson a travel pack of tissues while Charlie slung a rough arm around Skaara's neck, playfully giving the kid a noogie. Skaara laughed and wrestled back briefly before Kawalsky released him. Lou guffawed, clapping Daniel on the shoulder with enough force to nearly knock the man over.

The reunion was loud and boisterous, made more so as the other Abydonians gathered around them, all giving their own welcome. The reunion took a turn for the awkward when Cromwell cleared his throat, shouldering his way in. "Care to introduce us, Captain O'Neill?" he asked curtly. The reprimand in his voice was clear, and Jackson's spectacled eyes slid to Jack in question.

"This is Major Cromwell," Jack supplied, straightening into the picture of dutiful respect. But his fingers played with the strap of his rifle, which hung safely across his chest. "He's in command of this mission."

"Really?" Daniel's head tilted. "I would have thought after last time…" He paused when Jack pointedly met his gaze. His eyebrows lifted, and Jack shook his head minutely. "Oookay... Well, nice to meet you, Major. My name is Dr. Daniel Jackson, and this is my brother-in-law Skaara."

The Major examined them. Skaara's features remained bright, but his arm remained at his side. If Cromwell expected a salute, he'd be disappointed. But Frank didn't wait for any sort of overture; his eyes narrowed on Jackson, as though judging how exactly to plan his attack. Daniel gave Jack another pointed look but filled the silence of his own accord.

"So, why exactly are you guys here?" the archaeologist asked, his gaze bouncing between the two men. It was clear he would have preferred to speak to Jack directly, but graciously followed his friend's lead, splitting his attention between both men in compromise. "Last time we saw each other you said you were going to get Earth to bury its Stargate."

"Let's just say that didn't happen," Cromwell said. It was evident to Jack that his commanding officer was refraining from trusting Daniel, despite the fact his men did. It was a strategically sound move, but Jack worried how Jackson might respond to it. Last time Jack had treated Daniel as anything less than a friend, the man had gotten himself dragged off by an alien yak. But even so, it was the Major's decision as to what information Daniel received.

Daniel blinked. "Well, if you're looking for tips on how it works, you probably have people better suited back on Earth…" The group sobered abruptly. Ferretti's broad grin vanished, and Charlie shifted his weight uncomfortably. The glance he shot Jack did not go unnoticed by Daniel, who similarly looked to the expedition's former leader for answers. "So what did I say this time?"

Jack shot a look to Cromwell, giving him the chance to take the lead. But after a moment's thought, the Colonel's eyebrows shrugged, handing the reins of the conversation to his second-in-command. Jack appreciated the leniency; this was personal.

"Two days ago Earth was attacked by people who looked like Jaffa…" Daniel's eyes widened with surprise. "They didn't make it past the embarkation room, but they took out a squad of airmen and absconded back through the 'gate with one of our own. A scientist."

Lips pursed in thought, Daniel's eyebrows lifted. "Why capture one instead killing him with the rest? You think he was taken because they needed his expertise?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Doubtful," he drawled. "They didn't exactly quiz her before dragging her through the Stargate, Daniel."

"_Her_? Oh, well…" It didn't take a genius to make the connection as to why a woman might have been captured by enemy forces. Luckily, it wasn't dwelled upon. "They didn't come through here."

"And you're sure of that?" Cromwell pressed.

"100 percent," came the surefire response. "The boys take turns guarding 36 hours a day. Every day." A small, awkward smile crossed the younger man's lips. "I'm sorry, but wherever they went it wasn't here."

Jack rubbed a hand over his jaw, fighting to keep his composure. His emotions fluctuated from despair to rage in an instant, and now he felt the urge to destroy something. But now wasn't the time, and Cromwell was watching him carefully. He shoved his tumultuous impulses back in their box, and shut the lid tightly.

"But look, there is something you should probably see," Daniel continued. "We found a temple a little ways from here, but we'll be able to take you there as soon as the storm passes. Why don't you share evening meal with us?"

Cromwell accepted the offer of hospitality. They all crowded around the fire, and spirits lifted as the villagers passed around food and drink. At first, they were hesitant around Frank. His demeanor was more gruff than they were accustomed to, his guarded features out of place in their open culture. But when he was passed a trencher of the local brew, he sipped theatrically, then choked on the potent drink. The affectation broke the ice, and when Cromwell managed to crack a grin he was seemingly accepted into their ranks.

Jack tried to join the lively spirit of the group, but it was spoiled by the dark cloud hanging over his head. It turned darker when Daniel's wife Sha'uri emerged from behind the hanging blankets. The kiss she shared with her husband was saucy, as much to get a reaction from the men as it was to greet Daniel. But it was no less passionate than how Sam kissed him, and seeing it brought bitter bile to the back of Jack's throat.

He was glad to leave when the storm calmed, allowing them to journey out of the temple and into the scorching heat of the desert. Daniel led them, leaving Skaara in charge of the forces left behind—with Ferretti to help keep an eye on Skaara. It wasn't too far of a trek to the cave that was their destination, but even the short hump left Jack's collar soaked with sweat. The discomfort was well worth it, though, when the light from Daniel's torch bounced off the burnished walls of the cave.

"Holy mother of pearl…" Kawalsky tilted his helmet back with a whistle of awe, craning his neck to take in the tall ceiling above them. Jack mimicked his actions, peering at the Egyptian symbols embossed on the walls. The glyphs went as high as the ceiling, seemingly endless as they faded into the shadows shifting at the peak of the arching walls. "What is this place?"

"Well," Daniel responded. Jack recognized his shift into professor mode. "We think it's a sort of map room."

"How do you figure?" Cromwell asked.

"The symbols are grouped into cartouches. Seven hieroglyphs to each cartouche, so hypothetically, each of these cartouches is an address." Jackson paused, waiting for his audiences' comprehension. "A 'gate address."

Cromwell blinked. "So what you're saying is…"

Jack turned his back on the room, letting the others talk it out with Jackson. He understood perfectly what it meant, and he failed to share in the archaeologist's enthusiasm. Sam would have loved to see this room, and what it meant. The Stargate went other places. Thousands of places, if the sheer number of glyphs on the walls were any indication. She'd suspected as much for some time now, she'd just been unable to make a connection. Sam had told him some time ago that she was missing something, and Jack would bet his bottom dollar that this room would fill whatever gaps there were.

The only problem was that the best person to put the pieces together was the same person they were trying to find. Sam was the best person to find herself, and she was out there, perhaps on one of the thousand planets mapped on the walls behind Jack. Lost among the stars.

Jack stood placidly at the mouth of the cave, looking out over the burnished dunes of Abydos. His thoughts turned back to the scene he had witnessed back in the temple, between Daniel and Sha'uri. It had hurt to see their happiness, like an electric bolt to the heart. The chieftain's daughter was as beautiful as ever, but it had been her passion for Daniel that had been the real kicker. Her previously constrained bud of independence was gone, as was the demure reticence of a shrinking desert flower. She was in full bloom, brimming with warmth and confidence. Like Sam.

Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. The sharp sting of sand distracted him from the haunting likeness between Sha'uri and Sam, and dulled the dangerous edge of growing despair. It wasn't hopeless. Not yet. A footstep scuffed against the stone behind him, and Jack wasn't surprised when Daniel cleared his throat.

"She was the reason you changed your mind a year ago, isn't she?" the archaeologist said softly. "The woman who was abducted. She's why you decided to go back. To live."

Jack didn't respond for a long moment, unable to find the words to answer. He met Daniel's gaze, and saw the doctor recognize the truth for himself. The man took a breath to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. Silence hung in the air, tempered only by the occasional whine of the wind scraping across the cave's rocky outcropping.

"I almost lost her then," Jack said finally. His chest ached at the memory of how he'd woken that night to find Sam gasping for air beneath him, his hands around her neck. Her blood had stained his hands, and it wasn't until just recently, after months of therapy, that he stopped seeing its shadow on his skin. "And now I'm back where I started."

"One of those cartouches will work," Daniel said reassuringly. "We'll try all of them. And when it does—"

"We'll be able to search one planet out of _how_ many possibilities?" Jack scoffed. He shook his head. "It's not going to be that easy."

"Maybe it will be," Daniel fired back. He shook his head. "Is pessimism something they train for in the military?" A twinkle of teasing mirth in his eye softened the sting of the barb, and Jack didn't respond. "Besides," the archaeologist continued, "we'll help you find her."

Jack paused, ready to fire back a retort. What could a bunch of desert kids and an archaeologist do? But then he remembered what they had already accomplished together. After killing a god… well, was finding Sam really going to be that much harder? And he couldn't think of anyone better to have at his back; for all that they were a bunch of kids, and an archaeologist, they were tough. In some ways, they were tougher than some of the most seasoned soldiers Jack had served with back on Earth. But he wasn't quite ready to let go of the knot of tension in his gut.

"That wasn't pessimism," Jack scowled, throwing his best attempt at a glare at Daniel. It failed to impress.

"Was too," Daniel smirked.

"Was not."

"Was."

"Not."

Daniel blinked, sighing. "Jack…"

"Daniel?"

The archaeologist stared at him, as though trying to decide if it was worth the argument. In the end, it wasn't and Daniel merely huffed. Jack smirked, tallying it as a win. Though, Daniel had won too—Jack felt better. The despair hadn't vanished, but it had receded, and stubborn hope now flared in its place. Jack had his thank you ready on his lips when he froze, ear cocked towards the desert.

Daniel looked at him oddly. "Um… Jack?"

"You hear that?" Jack asked, stretching his senses past the whistling wind. Daniel turned his eyes to the dunes, listening intently. A moment later, the sound came again; the unforgettable sound of a staff blast. Just beneath that they heard the faint _ratatatat_ of automatic gunfire.

Daniel surged into motion at the same time as Jack. The archaeologist surged down the path from the cave entrance, moving swiftly into the desert towards the temple where he'd left his wife and family. Jack moved after him, radioing Cromwell as he did so. Jack could only hope they would get there in time.


	9. Chapter 9

Feretti was secretly glad to be left behind in the temple while Cromwell went off with Kawalsky and O'Neill. If the glint in Jackson's eye was any indication, whatever he had to show them was probably way too geeky for him anyway. Better to stay here with the Abydonians and their hooch. Habit kept his weapon strapped to his chest, but it hung unused. He laughed with the villagers, and grinned at the pretty girl who had a devilish smile of her own.

It was hard to believe this was the same room where Colonel Marshall and two other men had been killed in that first ambush a year ago. That dark night seemed far away now in the warm glow of the dozen torches that illuminated the temple. One of Skaara's friends— a face Lou recognized as one of the kids from last year— shoved another trencher at him, and Ferretti accepted without hesitation. Laughter was loud all around him, chasing the specters of his fallen comrades away to the far reaches of his memory.

When he first heard the grinding sound of the Stargate turning behind him, he kicked himself for letting his guard down. It didn't matter that he and the others were ready in place by the time the wormhole engaged, or that their firepower was grossly outmatched. As soon as the first serpent guards stepped through the wormhole, Lou knew he had made a grave mistake. They'd been caught with their pants down, foolishly thinking themselves safe in their little corner of the universe, even after they'd been sent here because of an equally unforeseen attack on Earth. They should have known better.

Lou managed to drop one serpent guard before a staff blast struck him in the chest. He fell against the base of the pillar behind him, paralyzed by shock and pain. The sounds of the firefight dulled to a whine in his ears; somehow he managed to keep a tenuous grip on consciousness. He could only breathe, sucking air in and pushing it out until the white-hot burn of the initial impact cleared from his vision. When it did, he could only watch as his kids fell, one by one. He struggled to gather breath to shout as he saw first Sha'uri, then Skaara snatched up by the serpent guards. He failed to reach them in time, failed to even move. Skaara and Sha'uri were limp in the arms of two different warriors, and a third moved to the dialing device Jackson had showed them earlier.

_No._ If the enemy forces made it back through the 'gate, they'd be untraceable. This was the one chance they had to find Sam Carter—and now they'd be looking for Skaara and Sha'uri as well. Pushing past the agony Lou managed to haul his broken body to the side, leaning just enough to get a glimpse of the symbols illuminated on the dialing device. He focused all of his energy on memorizing those seven glyphs, knowing that it would be the only chance Jack—and now Daniel—had of getting their people back. His pain faded under the weight of his task. The symbols seared into his mind as the rest of the world faded into darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

Teal'c marched swiftly down the corridor, deaf to the angry curses trailing behind him. He left the infuriating task of dragging Apophis' newest female through the halls to his subordinates, and focused instead on the oddity he had found on her home world. It was the second of Ra's holdings Teal'c had explored with his god. When Ra's disappearance grew so prolonged that the System Lords believed his death, Apophis had been quick to claim and survey his rival's holdings.

Their first exploration had discovered a strange world, unlike any Teal'c had ever seen. The stone room he had stepped into was no temple to Ra, no celebration of his exalted glory. It had been dark, nearly forgotten despite the soldiers left to protect it. With one look, Teal'c had known they were not Jaffa. They were neither large nor strong, and yet their vehement defense of their realm—and the woman caught in Apophis' snare—had surprised him.

And their weaponry had been alien, yet more advanced than he had seen used by any people lorded by the Goa'uld. For good reason: though all the soldiers had been slain, two Jaffa had fallen in the fight. Such weaponry was a threat to the gods. How then could Ra have allowed them to develop such effective means of defending themselves?

It had been stranger yet to see those same weapons on a world even more primitive than the last, in hands of children who possessed the same defiance as those soldiers in the great stone room. It was that defiance that now shouted and cursed at him in the guise of a small desert woman. How were these two worlds, so different, connected?

With these thoughts he led the female into the harem. Within, every woman fell still at the sight of him. They watched him with wide, fearful eyes, waiting for him to make his selection. But Apophis had not called for a potential host, and Teal'c simply motioned for his Jaffa to release the prisoner.

They did so immediately, and the woman tripped at the unexpected freedom. She would have tumbled down the shallow steps into the room but for the quick dash of another woman. He recognized the figure immediately—though she was now properly attired, and her hair styled with the same care as the other prisoners, Teal'c saw the courage that had so taken him aback in that strange first world she had been stolen from.

The golden-haired woman caught the desert girl before injury could befall her. Blue eyes glared at the guards' carelessness, and Teal'c was again taken by the startling clarity of them. The color of the sky, they burned with a fire he had never seen before. It was a spirit that now burned in the gaze of the dark-haired woman in her arms, who stared at her captors in defiance.

Teal'c observed them wordlessly. A glint of reflected light caught his attention, drawing his focus to a charm dangling from a fair skinned neck. As he looked at it, its purpose eluded him. Most baubles worn by females were intricate or bold, meant to catch the eye of suitors. But this—to his eye it seemed dull, and plain. It was nothing more than a flat segment of metal that did not seem to serve any religious or practical purpose.

As he watched, the women rose to their feet. The tab disappeared into the folds of the woman's gown, and Teal'c drew his thoughts back to the present. He turned his gaze back to the rest of the women, who shrank away from his sight in a manner he was much more accustomed to seeing.

"Prepare her," he commanded.

Not another word was said, by himself or the prisoners, but Teal'c knew his will would be done. Slaves would soon come to bathe and clothe their god's newest acquisition, and perhaps the more docile in the harem would instruct these two women on the virtues of demure obedience to their god.

Teal'c left, making his way down the opulent corridor with Jaffa in tow. Hearing the growing chatter of soft voices start up again, he let them fade away, so that his thoughts may wander. The image of the two women together lingered in his mind, confounding him with the similarities between them. Like their respective worlds, they were vastly different. And like their respective peoples, they shared the same dangerous spirit.

Alone, either of them could create problems for him. Together, they could very well bring about their own demise.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam watched the guards leave. For a moment, she thought that the one with the golden emblem on his forehead had seen the dog tag around her neck. When he finally looked away from her, relief had made her knees wobble. Now she helped her newest cellmate over to the nearest padded bench. The divan sat against the wall, and provided the woman some semblance of privacy as she regained her composure.

A soft murmur of gratitude floated up to Sam's ear as the woman sat. Sam's smile felt more like a grimace as she responded. "You're welcome… I think."

Brown eyes darted up to hers, surprised. "Y-Yes. Thank you."

Sam started, shock flushing her features with the warmth of relief. "You speak English!" Immediately, she corrected herself. "I mean, I shouldn't be surprised." The guards spoke English as well. But none of the other women seemed to understand a word she said. Did they truly not know English, or had they simply feigned ignorance as she entreatied their aid? "I can't help but be relieved, though."

Her companion nodded, her black curls bouncing with the motion. The woman smiled with a twinkle in her eye. "My husband taught me," she said, her words stuttering only slightly in hesitation. "My Dan'yel is very smart. He has taught me, and my brother…" Her voice trailed off. Tears filled her eyes, and Sam felt her own begin to burn. She'd managed to hold herself together thus far, but the woman's clearly visible distress was catching. It only abated when curiosity stung her thoughts, catching on the name her new friend had uttered.

"Dan'yel… You mean, Daniel?" Her thoughts raced, sending her blood speeding through her veins, laced with the tingle of adrenaline. "Your husband Dan'yel taught you English… Are you—? You're… Sha'uri?"

"Yes!" The girl tapped her chest. "Sha'uri!" With her features bright, Sha'uri appeared years younger than Sam had imagined she'd be. The glower of imprisonment gone, the desert woman seemed not much older than Sam herself. As Sam watched, her friend's features clouded once more in confusion. "But, how do you know this?" she asked.

"Jack…" Sam shook her head. Jack had told her only Daniel had called him Jack during that first mission, and only then in the final moments before Jack had returned to Earth. Sha'uri might not know him as Jack. "O'Neill," she corrected. "Captain O'Neill, he told me everything."

"You are Sama… Samant'a?"

By now, Sam was gripping the edge of the bench so fiercely she could almost hear her knuckles creaking under the strain. She nodded. "Yes."

"You are O'Neill's beloved…" Sha'uri smiled. Before Sam could ask how she knew that, she continued. "He came in search of you."

"To Abydos?" Sha'uri nodded. So they had let Jack through the Stargate. Her relief was immeasurable, releasing a knot in her chest she'd been trying to breathe past since first waking up here. She wasn't all that surprised he'd managed to find his way onto the expedition, but she'd refused to let herself believe it without proof. Now she had it.

"Do you know if…" Sam's voice caught in her throat. "Is Jack all right?" The flashes of memory that had come back to her of her abduction told her that if Jack had been on Abydos when the enemy struck, the odds were against him surviving unscathed. And he wouldn't have let Sha'uri be taken without a fight.

Sha'uri shook her head, her curly hair bouncing spritely. "He was not in the temple when the false gods appeared. That is all I know." Sam's disappointment must have shown, because a moment later Sha'uri gave her hand a squeeze. "O'Neill is a great warrior," she said softly. "He will not relinquish his search for you."

Sam tried focus on the hope in Sha'uri's voice. The girl was full of optimism, and Sam _wanted _to believe that it could only be so easy, that if Jack only kept looking, he would find her. She was smarter than that though. She couldn't wait for him. Neither could Sha'uri.

"I'm sure Doctor Jackson is fine as well," she assured her new friend. "And we're going to get home. I promise."

Brown eyes widened. "Have you found a way out?" Sha'uri scanned the rearmost corners of the room, and lit up when she spotted the shadowy doorway that led to the bathing area. Sam had experienced that same heartstopping moment of hope—but she had been sorely disappointed.

"No," she said gently. "The only way out is the way you came in." She glanced at Sha'uri. "I don't suppose you could retrace the route they took to bring you here?"

It was Sha'uri's turn to shake her head. "No. I woke up in another room." The woman's features fell, and Sam quickly took her hand.

"It's okay," she assured her. "Just means we'll have to get creative."

Silence answered her, but when Sam squeezed Sha'uri's fingers, her new friend smiled, somehow comforted. "I am sorry this has happened," the woman said, her English accented but clear. "But I am glad to have met you, Samant'a."

"Me too," Sam returned.

"When O'Neill returned through the _chappa'ai_, he said very little. When he told us what had happened on your planet, to you, I knew that he loved you very much." Sam froze, a lump rising in her throat to choke her. Sha'uri smiled shyly at her. "Among my people, the beloved of my brother is my sister."

Sam blinked, taken aback. All her life, the people around her had hidden their true selves. Her father's world had been brimming with aides and politicians who always wanted something in return for their goodwill. Her father had dressed himself up as whomever he thought the voters wanted him to be. Even her mother had put on the visage of dutiful, proud wife despite the strain the world of politics placed on her marriage and her family. The Carter family had been open to public view, but all the public had been allowed to see was the picture-perfect ideal—they didn't look close enough to see the fault lines that ran through the Carter family.

Now here she was confronted by the disarming honesty of a young desert woman, a friend she knew better through Jack's experiences than her own, who within moments of meeting welcomed Sam into the heart of her family with open arms. Inclusion had never been so genuine, or effortless, and Sam found herself at a loss on how to respond as she wrapped her brain around it. Once she did, she decided she liked it.

Wordlessly, Sam scooted closer to wrap her arms around Sha'uri's shoulders, pulling her closer in a hug that gave Sam hope, which banished the last lingering doubts. She was still imprisoned, still incredibly far from home, with no weapon or tool to her name. But she was miles from the dark place she'd been just that morning. Because she had an ally— better yet, a sister—and that made all the difference in the world.


	12. Chapter 12

The briefing room was quiet; where the uniformed men might otherwise be familiar and demonstrative, the silence was unnerving. Or maybe that was Jack's sense of control slipping away, little by little. Somehow, things had gone from bad to worse. Now not only was Sam missing, he'd lost Sha'uri and Skaara were gone too. Logic told him that the serpent guards would have come through to Abydos regardless of anything he could have done, but his conscience told him different. He shouldn't have involved Daniel and the Abydonians in this.

The archaeologist in question now paced the room, repeatedly running an agitated hand through his hair. His movements were jerky, nearly furious. Jack didn't say anything to calm him. He didn't know what he could say. Cromwell stood with his back to the others, staring stonily through the reinforced glass windows that looked out onto the embarkation room. The Stargate loomed ominously below the conference room, as though taunting them with the secret of where their people were hidden. But it could not, would not bequeath its knowledge to them. It was up to Ferretti to tell them what they needed to know.

Lou's face wasn't the only one missing from those ringing the long wooden table. Brown was absent as well; where Ferretti was being settled into ICU following a life-saving emergency surgery, Brown had been DOA, slain on Abydos in the temple ambush. Too many Airmen had gone to the cartouche chamber with Jackson. Jack knew now that either Kawalsky or he himself should have remained behind to serve as an additional gun in case something unexpected happened. No doubt Cromwell realized that as well, which would explain the hard set of the Major's features reflected in the glass.

It would be a long time before Lou was back on his feet, and Jack felt a pang of responsibility. Ferretti had saved his life in Iraq—if the Lieutenant hadn't been thrown in his cell, Jack would've let himself slip away. Ferretti had unwittingly given him a purpose, and kept him fighting until their rescuers had come in guns blazing. And now the Lieutenant was again the person who held the key to his survival. If he had seen the symbols of the ambush party's destination, then Ferretti was the best chance to track down Sam, Skaara, and Sha'uri. If he didn't, they had nothing. No symbols, no Sam. No rescue, no closure. Nothing.

Damn it. They shouldn't have let their guards down. But the strategist in Jack knew that it wouldn't have mattered. They'd reacted quickly enough, been in defensive positions before the enemy had even stepped foot through the Gate. They'd simply been outmatched, and now their missing, injured and dead paid the price for their inevitable failure.

Self-recrimination seized Jack's insides, crushing down and molding everything into a tight, dense ball of disgust. He should've done a lot of things. But now all he could do was wait. Just wait, and hope that—

The shrill ringing of the telephone shattered the tense cloud of quiet around them. Jack was the closest, though three bodies surged towards the handset at once.

"O'Neill," Jack said into the phone, meeting the gaze of Daniel and Cromwell as they slowed to a stop. He listened for a short moment, then uttered a terse "thank you" before hanging up. He was moving towards the stairwell even as he relayed the message. "Ferretti's awake," he said, prompting every uniformed body to rise to his feet. Jack let his gaze focus on Jackson directly. "He remembers the coordinates."

As soon as the words passed his lips, Jackson broke into a dead sprint, vying for the stairs. Cromwell was hot on his heels, but Jack reached the infirmary first, not stopping until he was standing at his friend's bedside. Lungs burning, it took Jack a moment to register the computer monitor that had been maneuvered next to the hospital bed already, cluttered the floor space as Ferretti blearily stared at the screen.

There was a tube down his throat to help him breathe, and though thick heavy bandages covered one eye, Jack could tell that the haze of drugs was thick around the younger man's mind. But when Jack looked at the attending nurse hovering just nearby, she could only shrug. "He insisted on looking through the catalogue of Stargate symbols, sir." She held up a legal-size yellow notepad. "He's looking for the final one now."

Adrenaline started leaking into his system, setting his nerve endings on fire. His feet tingled in anticipation when he saw Lou's shaky hand reach out and point at the symbol occupying the screen. The nurse glanced at it, then copied the symbol onto the notepad. She tore it off and handed it to Cromwell, who was already reaching for it. Jack kept his attention on Lou, who settled back onto his pillow in exhaustion, his job done. No doubt all the Lieutenant wanted to was sleep into next week, but Jack moved to the side of the bed, leaning in to speak in a low voice.

"Lou…" he said gently, causing his friend's uninjured eye to open sluggishly. Ferretti focused on him, connecting and Jack knew he was all there, despite the drugs running through his system. "You're on a lot of drugs right now," Jack started, "but I need to know. Are you _sure?_"

Ferretti couldn't say anything past the tube in his throat. His nod, however, contained not a shred of doubt. Jack's knot of discomfort loosened a fraction. Ferretti had done; he gave them a chance. One last chance to get their people back.

He laid a hand gently on Lou's shoulder in gratitude. "Thank you."

Ferretti's hand lifted from the mattress, and Jack clasped it firmly for a brief moment of gratitude and solidarity before the Lieutenant finally gave into the pull of hospital-grade painkillers. Jack stepped away from the bed then, letting the nurse move in to check on his friend. Cromwell similarly wasted no time. "Get the others geared up and ready to go," he ordered. "I'll inform the General. We're gone as soon as we get the green light."

Daniel followed on Jack's heels into the hallway, where the rest of the team stood waiting anxiously. Kawalsky was the first to catch Jack's eye, and when Jack nodded that they had the symbols, he could see his own relief reflected in his friend's eyes. Jack uttered a few terse instructions, prompting the others to disperse quickly to their tasks. Daniel didn't say anything, and neither did Jack. Kawalsky gave them their space, and Jack was grateful for his friend's help in keeping the others on point as they prepared to embark once more through the Stargate. Not one of them dared give voice to the hope burgeoning within them, nor did they express the doubts that still had a firm hold on their thoughts.

They had the information they needed, but they still had a long way to go before they had their families back again. The important thing was that they were on their way. _We're coming, Sam,_ Jack thought. _Just hold on a little longer. I'm coming._


	13. Chapter 13

Teal'c entered the harem on silent feet. The Jaffa guarding the entrance merely glanced at him. It was not the first time he had come unaccompanied, even at this hour of the night. In the rooms beyond, women lay sleeping; some curled up on the overlarge floor pillows, others stretched out on the padded divans. However, as he entered, Teal'c immediately knew that not all rested.

He followed his senses to the source of the eyes on him—somehow, he was not surprised to discover the fair-haired female from before, watching him with hooded eyes. In the dark, their brightness was dampened. She sat beside her friend, who slept curled against the curved armrest of their appropriated bench. He was pleased to see that the desert woman had been made presentable. He had been correct in discerning the beauty beneath the coarse sand that had crusted her skin.

The fair-skinned one straightened as his gaze persisted, and rose when he beckoned. Sparing a glance for her friend, she stepped away with silent footsteps. She regarded him carefully, her arms crossing warily across her chest. The motion again drew his attention to the small piece of metal hanging from her neck. It was clear to Teal'c she had attempted to disguise it beneath the cowl of her gown, but the fabric had proven uncooperative.

The woman's eyes followed his gaze, and quickly moved to hide her treasure. Teal'c rapped the end of his staff weapon against her knuckles, knocking her hand away. A gasp escaped her, nearly soundless in the quiet room. Teal'c stepped in close to pick the charm up in his fingers. He gave no notice of the breath the woman held, or her stiff posture as she fought the urge to step away.

"What is this?" he demanded, low enough that only she could hear, but no less commanding. She hesitated, and Teal'c tugged sharply on the charm, forcing her to step closer rather than snap the chain. "Speak, woman!"

"It's an identification tag," she stammered. "They're issued to soldiers, where I come from."

"You are not a warrior." She was not—she was spirited, but her body was soft, and accustomed to comfort.

Her head shook in agreement. "No, I'm not."

"Did you steal it?" he accused.

Blue eyes blinked, startled. "What? No!" She quieted then, her gaze passing over her sisters. None stirred at her sudden exclamation. "No," she continued, her voice carefully hushed. "I didn't—I did _not_ steal it. It was a gift… from someone I care for a great deal."

Her head bowed, and even among the shadows he could see the flush that rose to her cheeks. "Please," she uttered softly, looking up at him through pale lashes. "Don't take it away."

The idea had occurred to him. The tag set this woman apart from the others. No other female had been permitted any memento of their home worlds. Permitting this one to keep hers would only encourage further rebellion. And yet, when Teal'c made his decision, he released the small rectangle and straightened.

The woman sniffled mutedly, clasping the charm in her palm. "Thank you." Her voice was soft, yet rich, and resonated in him with its honesty. The words were heartfelt. The confiscation of her trinket would have devastated her. "My name is Samantha."

A jolt shot through Teal'c, and he returned to himself sharply. He rose to his full height, made all the more imposing in the low light of the room. Wide eyes stared up at him, the woman's body once more stiff with wary caution. She remained silent, and yet she was expectant, waiting for him to respond.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and swept from the room. She desired his identity, but Teal'c would not give her dominion over him so easily.

Teal'c marched swiftly away from the guarded enclave, dread pooling in his heart. He had made a grievous error in coming here this night. He should not have let his curiosity get the better of him. He should not have asked questions. It mattered not that the woman—_Samantha_, his thoughts reminded him—knew of his hunger for knowledge. What threatened to undo him was the name that flitted through his thoughts. Samantha… a rich name for the graceful woman who bore it.

For decades, anonymity had shielded his soul from the atrocities he had committed at his god's command. The faces in his past were numerous, but they ran together, mingling until none were unique. But now, Samantha had made herself known to him. Already, his reticence burgeoned to empathy in favor of the bewitching woman. He could only pray that he might save her from the fate of so many others.


	14. Chapter 14

In the few days since George Hammond took command of his post, he'd come to realize that his predecessor, General West, was not held in the highest esteem. The men and women assigned to Project Giza were all professional, and knew that they had likely shown West the respect his rank demanded. But after a lifetime in the military, George could sense the subtleties between respect that was required and respect that had been earned. When the servicemen and women in Cheyenne Mountain rendered him crisp obedience, it wasn't out of any true loyalty, or even out of trust that he would fill the shoes of highly regarded commander. When he saw how they interacted with the one man who openly advocated West's previous decisions and procedures, it told George all he needed to know.

Major Bert Samuels was a true sycophant, the kind that weak leaders often kept around to bolster their administration. At first, the man had been a font of knowledge regarding the project-to-date. He could recount facts and figures like he was reading from a book. But the man flattered as a matter of course, availing himself to Hammond's needs a little too earnestly; on top of that, Samuels fairly sung the praises of General West, informing Hammond of how the former commander had run his ship. Samuels clung to the way things had been, and his utter lack of initiative and original thought rendered him absolutely useless in a command that served as the frontlines between Earth and the rest of the universe. The old ways weren't going to cut it.

The situation in which they now found themselves proved that the old way of doing things was not enough. They were dealing with aliens and space travel, and the same strategies that worked in Iraq and Kuwait just wouldn't cut it. They would have to change how they viewed the world, the _galaxy, _and there would be no room for the unbendable. But, Hammond acknowledged, if Samuels had his way then there would be no need to bend. It seemed he, and West, advocated for the permanent sealing of the Stargate.

It was the true motivation behind West's authorization of Sam's shield design, pushing it through to the manufacture and implementation phase. According to the documentation Hammond had received, Sam had termed it an 'iris', and once installed across the face of the Stargate it could be closed to prevent unauthorized travelers from coming through to Earth like they had two days ago. It was bitter humor that the shield had been delivered to Cheyenne Mountain a mere 72 hours too late to protect Sam from that very threat. Sergeant Siler now headed up the team now installing it over the device. It should have been Sam.

What West, and by proxy Samuels, valued in the ingenious design was that in times of emergency, the iris could be permanently sealed. Hammond had been forced to give SG-1 and SG-2 a deadline of 48 hours. 48 hours before their codes would be rescinded and they would all be rendered MIA, presumed KIA. Logically, George recognized the need for such a measure, but as a commander he knew that such a time constraint may not apply to such _otherworldly_ circumstances. They absolutely no idea what to expect, but the Joint Chiefs had elected to err on the side of caution, for the good of the planet. After 48 hours, the iris shield would be permanently closed, locking out their men and the rest of the galaxy out for good.

Hammond tried to ignore his personal stake in those teams returning home, and their mission for going in the first place. He couldn't. Not completely. Many years ago, he accepted the role of godfather to Samantha Ann Carter, and in so doing George had promised to guard and protect that beautiful child when her parents could not. He'd failed to keep that promise.

When he had lost touch with the Carter family after Susan's death, George could pretend it was beyond his control. Jacob had still pursued the presidential ballot, and Sam had been caught up in the whirlwind, supporting her father the only way she knew how. They were too busy to see an old friend, and if Jacob wouldn't return his calls, there was nothing George could do to change that. But losing Sam to an interplanetary threat within an hour of reconnecting with her—and seeing the amazing woman she'd grown to be—that was his fault. What would Susan Carter say if she could see him now?

"Sir, you have a call on line 1." Sergeant Harriman poked his head into the office. George looked up from the report he'd been pretending to read, glad for the distraction. "Your wife. Should I tell her you'll call her back?"

The man had been blessedly tactful of the tense air that seemed to cling to George. He doubted how much Walter knew of his personal relationship to Samantha Carter, and perhaps the man was simply wary of the his new commanding officer, but either way Harriman had allowed Hammond to have his space by keeping Samuels occupied with other tasks. The Major had been all but counting down the minutes until they were authorized to seal the Stargate permanently. If not for Harriman running interference, George would have been ready to shoot the man.

George sighed. "No, Sergeant, I'll take it. Thank you."

Harriman murmured something in return as he ducked back out, closing the office door behind him. It was all the privacy he would get, with one wall of his office made transparent by the window that saw through to the conference room. It was empty now, and he took advantage of the quiet to lift the receiver of his black desk phone. Marge couldn't know what went on in this mountain, but her voice would go a long way towards banishing the guilt clawing hungrily at his conscience.


	15. Chapter 15

Steeling his resolve, Teal'c turned the corner into the harem, two Jaffa falling seamlessly into step behind him. He slowed to a brisk stop at the center of the room, and turned a dispassionate eye across the crowd of faces staring fearfully up at him. They trembled like leaves in in a stiff breeze, as though a breath more might scatter them to pieces. All, that is, but two.

Samantha sat on the same seat he had found her on the previous night, and now her friend, the desert flower, sat as well. Wide blue eyes watched him, but not in fear. They were sharp with interest, and bright with wariness. This time however, it was her companion who drew the First Prime's eye.

The woman sat askance, a mane of dark curls casting a shadow over her features. What little was left visible was left twisted in a dark glower. She had spirit to match her friend's, but her color and shape—soft and petite to Samantha's long angles—would be pleasing to both Apophis and his queen.

He lifted his hand to motion to his men—

"Wait."

Samantha stood, squaring her shoulders as she addressed Teal'c. In a smooth step she placed herself between her friend and the guards, her stance defiant and challenging. Teal'c motioned for the guards to hold, then turned his gaze back to the woman.

Though she was not a warrior, courage stared back him. "Take me," she declared.

For a long moment, Teal'c debated the choice he faced. The woman she protected—whose eyes had awakened in alarm, fearful for her friend—she could be the one to end the cycle of slaughter. But this Samantha had greater spirit than the desert flower, who sat frozen on her bench, unable to move. She possessed beauty beyond compare. Perhaps she could earn the approval of the queen as well, and have the peace of mind in knowing she spared her friend a terrible fate.

With a heavy heart, Teal'c lifted his chin in acquiescence. "Kree!" He motioned towards the woman, but the guards' hands were knocked aside before they could lay hand on her.

"There's no need," she delivered coolly. "I won't resist." She stepped forward without any further prompting. Teal'c admired the stature in her steps, regal and deliberate. Yes. Perhaps she would be the one.

"Nanei! No!" Now the desert woman moved, darting forward to pull her friend back. Teal'c's Jaffa prevented the girl from reaching Samantha, forming a wall of muscle the woman couldn't hope to penetrate. "Samant'a!"

"It's all right." Samantha met her friend's gaze, but didn't move. "I'll be okay," she promised. Teal'c felt his stomach drop from under him. She trusted him, he realized. She should not have presumed to do so. He nodded, signaling for his Jaffa to move. They began to press forward, herding Samantha towards the entrance without handling her roughly. She obliged them with grace, tearing her gaze from her friend to pace after Teal'c as he led the way out of the harem.

Not a word was spoken. The guards fell into marching order several paces behind their captive, ensconcing her in a restrictive formation. She could not run, if she even made an effort to do so. As they passed a hanging panel of smooth, glimmering gold, Teal'c spied a glance at Samantha's reflection. Her unnatural blue eyes were traveling the space around her, drinking in her surroundings. The fascination in her features surprised him, for it eclipsed both the fear and the affectation of strength she had worn mere moments before. In their absence she was younger than her pride suggested, and guilt once more manifested in Teal'c's heart.

But then he was past the mirror, and he pulled his resolve around him like a cloak. He had sentenced this woman to a fate worse than death, but if it meant an end to the killing, then Teal'c would bear the burden of this evil as he did the rest. Even so, he could not help but feel the tickle of Samantha's gaze at the nape of his neck—no doubt, he was now the subject of her survey. He could only pray she had not glimpsed his observation of her. If Amonet sensed his reluctance through her, then he and his family would be doomed.

Teal'c led the woman around the corner and down the short hall that terminated in a set of grand double doors. Two Jaffa stood watch without, and snapped to attention as soon as the group into sight. In synchronized movement they threw their weights against the heavy doors, until they parted lazily to admit them.

Stepping into the room, Teal'c heard Samantha hesitate. Out of fear or curiosity, he didn't know, but his Jaffa swiftly moved to take her by the arms and force her along. Teal'c turned to chide them, and her, when Samantha pulled away from both. "Let go of me!" Teal'c could see the moment she planted her feet, refusing to move until the guards learned to keep their distance. Both Jaffa looked to his command.

He hesitated, briefly, before nodding briskly. No other prisoner had been afforded such respect, but then, no other prisoner had been Samantha. No other had her spirit, and none demanded to walk freely. Others sobbed, pleaded, demanded to be freed. But none presented themselves so regally.

Escorting the prisoner to the foot of Apophis' throne, Teal'c bowed his head in respect. His Jaffa stood guard behind Samantha, whose bright eyes searched the shadowed room around her. The chamber was softer than the glaring opulence of the hall without, shrouded in drapery and rich, lavish colors. Only the raised pedestal, as long and broad as a grown man, gave any indication of the chamber's true purpose.

Silence cloaked them. As it persisted, Teal'c feared he had chosen poorly. Perhaps Samantha had given him false hope, distracted his curiosity to lose sight of Apophis' preference. He had not forced her to kneel; though Teal'c sensed nothing from her but hesitant, way curiosity, Apophis may have taken her stature for petulance. If so, the lot of them would be forced to render penance. But then, out of the shadows, a low rumble of mirth betrayed Apophis' amusement.

"You have chosen well, Teal'c," his god praised, stepping regally into sight. "Very well, indeed." Teal'c bowed his head in gratitude, as Apophis turned his gaze to the woman once more. "This one has spirit." He slowly walked around the prisoner. "And is most beautiful."

"This one is standing right here. I'd appreciate it if you addressed me as such."

Samantha's voice shook only slightly, unable to contain the undercurrent of fear that gripped her. No doubt she sensed the menace oozing from the god, the aura of tyranny that hung about him. But even then, it was bright and clear. Apophis' eyes flared, glowing brightly as he focused on Samantha for the first time, seeing more than the pleasing physical attributes of the offering.

Teal'c watched silently as his master's brimming fury abated, and amusement once more turned his lips upwards. "Such pride…" he remarked. "You are already more a queen than the rest. You may be what my beloved has been looking for."

Apophis extended a graceful, gauntleted hand extended to a curtained alcove. Within, a Jaffa female rose and stepped into view. She was richly dressed, adorned in honor of the goddess residing within her. Hennaed fingers parted her robes, revealing the mouth of her symbiote pouch.

When a dark, finned head emerged into the light, Teal'c averted his gaze in respect. He heard Samantha gasp in alarm; the true goa'uld form was hideous. But she did not attempt to flee. With bated breath, the First Prime waited for the sound that indicated the queen's approval. Within moments, a long squeal broke the silence of the room, and Tealc was overwhelmed by both relief and despair. Amonet had chosen her next vessel.

"Very well," Apophis agreed. He stepped forward, and the two guards stepped up to block Samantha's instinctive retreat. Heavy hands grasped her arms, keeping her in place as the jewel at the palm of Apophis' gauntlet flared to life.

"What—?" Fear fractured Samantha's calm. She clearly had no suspicion of what was happening, but she sensed the danger to herself, and no chance of her escape.

"You have been granted a great blessing," Apophis informed her, his voice a croon of seduction.

"Let go!"

The jewel of the hand device burned brightly, and a moment later Samantha fell silent. Her struggles ceased entirely, her lithe frame stiffening under the jewel's beam. The paralysis was temporary, but would be enough for Amonet to claim her host. With an imperious nod from Apophis, the Jaffa lifted Samantha and placed her upon the waiting dais. Their hands were rough, without concern for the body they handled, and when they released her, Samantha lay woodenly, and only her eyes betrayed her growing terror.

The paralysis left its victims aware, Teal'c knew. Many times he had turned his eyes away, so that he would not see the moment they realized their helplessness. But now he could not bear to look away; Samantha's blue eyes remained clear, gripping him and rooting him to the spot.

The queen's Jaffa stepped closer, and with an excited chirr of sound the Goa'uld left the safety of the Jaffa's womb, slithering menacingly across the stone. A full-body flinch wracked the woman as the symbiote's damp body climbed the human's calf. Teal'c blinked, the sight of the wince breaking him from his trance. No host had ever broken through the paralysis, not even so minute as a twitch.

The Goa'uld continued its predatory journey slowly, steadily. It paused, briefly, at the graceful curve where neck met shoulder. Small black eyes flared in triumph.

Samantha's hand spasmed. Her fist flexed in sharp, jerky moments. Alarm bloomed in within Teal'c, mingling with his amazement. Something was very wrong.

Amonet reared, opening her trifurcated maw reared back. Poised to strike, it loosed a scream of victory.

"NO!"

Samantha screamed, her body flailing in sheer mindless terror. Her numbed frame bucked wildly, dislodging the queen from her perch. Before anyone could react, a waving arm lashed out and swept the creature from the table entirely.

"JAFFA KREE!" Apophis commanded, his echoing tenor mingling with Samantha's cries and the squeals of the dethroned queen. His voice awoke the Jaffa, and they sprang into action. Teal'c was already kneeling to retrieve the queen, leaving the guards to catch Samantha as her flailing sent her tumbling over the edge of the pedestal. They were not swift enough.

For all that Samantha had broken the paralysis of the hand device, it had been blind panic that fueled her. She had no control over her motions, and when she hit the floor, the back of her skull cracked sharply against the stone. Teal'c saw her body go limp, stunned, before the guards fell upon her. They snatched Samantha by the arms and wrestled her upright as Teal'c returned Amonet to her Jaffa.

The Jaffa dragged Samantha before Apophis, her legs trailing behind her, unresponsive. Apophis drew himself up, fury burning bright in his eyes. Teal'c solemnly came to stand beside him; should Apophis decree it, he would bear the punishment for presenting a woman so barbaric.

"Kill her!" came the imperious command.

Teal'c tightened his grip on his staff weapon. In some instances, Apophis reserved the pleasure of executing his enemies for himself. Executions that served as punishment, however, fell to Teal'c. In this instance, the punishment was twofold: for Samantha, and for himself.

He had expected nothing less since he saw the serpent dashed upon the floor, and yet when bleary blue eyes focused on Teal'c through their pain, Teal'c hesitated. It must be done. It was his role, his honor as First Prime to enact the will of the gods. There was no escape for either of them.

"Kill her, now!" thundered Apophis.

Teal'c brought his weapon to bear. Blue eyes followed the motion, then rolled shut dazedly. When Samantha pulled them open once more, she stared Teal'c in the eye. Though they were weary, they did not plead for his help, nor did they condemn him. There was no judgment but that which lurked in Teal'c's soul, no fear but the pounding of his heart.

"KREE, JAFFA!"

Teal'c squeezed the trigger.


	16. Chapter 16

An alien planet shouldn't look like Earth. Jack determined this within minutes of setting foot on the new planet Lou had directed them to. Where Abydos at least had the decency to look like the most remote corner the Sahara, this planet looked like the woods outside his cabin in Minnesota. It was chilly and foggy as hell, but not even the dense cloud cover could hide the deep stretch of pine trees spread out in front of them.

He didn't waste any time saying anything about it out loud though. They were all keenly aware of the deadline ticking away; 48 hours wasn't very long at all, and every second counted. Cromwell immediately rattled off instructions. SG-2 would remain at the Stargate under the command of Major Thoms. As soon as SG-2 got started on preparing some basic perimeter protection, SG-1 stepped off to start looking for their missing people. At Daniel's suggestion, they'd followed the path that led from the "religious site" off into the woods. At the other end of road, the archaeologist reasoned, they'd find a village or town.

True to Daniel's prediction, it wasn't all that long before they ran into a contingent of men who looked to be priests. The group was friendly enough, and more that once Jack silently thanked Hammond for letting them bring Jackson along. Without him to translate, Jack suspected they wouldn't have gotten nearly as far with the priests. However, Daniel's thinking process seemed to put Cromwell on edge. Jack didn't blame him. A year ago, the archaeologist's stuttering habit of thinking out loud had come across as the rambling of incompetence. But he got the job done, and Jack suspected that the archaeologists more personable qualities had warmed the priests up a bit, whereas the weapons the rest of the team carried seemed to put them on edge.

The priests led them to a feast in a city less than two klicks from the Stargate. It was a lavish affair, with high spirits and lively music, though the guests in attendance weren't dancing. Instead they regarded SG-1's entrance with lofty gazes. Sam wasn't there, but around the edges of the hall serpent guards stood watch. Jack and Kawalsky shared a tense look at the sight of them, but when not a single one moved to intercept their party, Cromwell motioned for them to just play it cool. Sam was no where in sight, but if Daniel could mingle with the guests and ask questions, maybe one of these snoots would be able to tell them. Before Jack could share his plan with Daniel, the priests posed a tense question. All eyes turned to them, and Daniel managed to stammer his way through a hastily tacked together response.

Whatever he said, or however he said it, it wasn't the answer they were expecting. Instantaneously, a bubble of space formed around them as their neighbors surged away from them, as if they carried the plague. The serpent guards were there in an instant, disarming them before they even had a chance to raise their weapons. Daniel tried to explain his mistake (if he even knew what mistake he'd made) and got a staff weapon upside his head for his trouble.

Before they knew it, they were herded to a prison cell, with Daniel senselessly draped between Jack and Kawalsky. They staked out a corner of the cell that was towards the back, which gave them enough privacy amongst their fellow prisoners to speak and be heard. Almost as soon as they settled, Daniel began to return to his senses.

"You know, Daniel," Jack said curtly, helping his friend sit upright, "next time why don't you let me do the talking."

Seriously. One minute, they were being received as gods, and the next they were being tossed into a dark dungeon with more than two dozen other misplaced individuals.

"The guy asked if we were here for the choosing," Daniel moaned. "Apparently, when I said yes, he thought we were to be the ones being chosen, not the ones doing the choosing." He pressed a hand to his forehead, grimacing. "What hit me?"

"Guard whacked you," Kawalsky supplied, sounding a little too chipper to be sympathetic. "Guess he didn't appreciate your tone."

"Yes," Jack agreed, joining in on the fun. "And what was that you said about his sister?"

Daniel blinked. "I didn't say anything about…" He paused, taking in their grins and barely contained laughter. "Very funny."

Kawalsky shrugged. "We do our best."

"Dan'yel!"

The shout brought all eyes up, and when Skaara pushed his way through the crowd, alive and well, Daniel was the first to greet him, pulling the kid into a crushing hug. "Skaara! Are you all right?"

"Yes," he assured his brother-in-law quickly. "But Sha'uri, she is not here. They took her!"

"When?" Jack asked brusquely.

Skaara looked up at him; when he spoke, it was with the respectful words of a solider reporting. "Not long after we were brought here."

Jack clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Did you see where they took her?"

The boy shook his head. "No." Skaara paused, then hesitantly continued. "I have searched every face in here, O'Neel. There are none as you have described as your beloved."

Damn. Odds were, the girls were together somewhere, wherever they were. He gave Skaara an affectionate pat, touched that the kid had thought to look for Sam. He and his sister had found details of Sam intriguing; they'd grilled him about Earth's missing scientist right up until Jack had gone off with the others to the cartouche chamber. He hadn't realized then that they had seen through his concern even more quickly than Daniel had.

"Thanks, Skaara," he said softly. "We'll find them."

"And we'd better do it fast," Cromwell stated, stepping forward. The single pace broke into the small circle Jack, Kawalsky, Daniel, and Skaara had naturally fallen into. It was a subtle gesture display of power, but Jack and Kawalsky realized their mistake immediately. Their personal investment in this mission was the precise reason for Cromwell leading it. Jack stepped back, giving his commanding officer greater access to their circle. Their eyes met, and Cromwell acknowledged it with merely a nod.

"We've got less than ninety minutes to get back through the gate before we're locked out." No one responded to that. The ever-closing deadline hung over their heads like Damocles' sword. "Kawalsky, check out the gate. We need to know points of weakness." Frank then turned to Daniel. "Doctor Jackson, do you think you could talk to these people?"

"I don't know what kind of good that'll do," Daniel said with uncharacteristic curtness. "They're not _here_…"

"Daniel," Jack cut in, glancing at Cromwell. The Major allowed him to continue. "We don't know anything about any 'choosing'. If these people do, and they can tell us, we'll be that much closer to getting out of here and finding our people."

The anthropologist looked like he wanted to argue further, but ultimately nodded. "All right. Fine."

Kawalsky clapped a hand on his shoulder, pulling him towards the center of the prison. "Come on, doc, doing your thing might actually be helpful again."

As they moved off, Cromwell turned to Jack, but before he could hand out another task, Jack cut him off. "Sir…" he said voice low. "If we don't find Sam… I'm not going back."

If they went back empty handed, he risked the Gate being closed for good, with Sam on the other side. He couldn't let that happen. He would keep looking, for as long as it took.

Cromwell regarded him for a long, tense moment. Dark eyes held Jack's, searching. Finally, Frank shifted his stance with a sigh. "Yeah, I figured as much." A wry smile twisted the Major's features. "You two are a real pair, you know that?"


	17. Chapter 17

Teal'c stared solemnly at the corpse at his feet. Even in death, Samantha stared at him. Once so clear and bright, her eyes were now pale without the spirit behind them. Her body lay sprawled on the stone floor, limbs askance as though she were a toy that had been discarded by a petulant the burnt cavity carved into her chest stood in evidence to the atrocity committed against her.

Apophis had long since vacated the scene of Teal'c's crime, departing with his queen's Jaffa to await the presentation of another female forthwith. He had spared his First Prime, and Teal'c knew that he could not afford to err again. Every ounce of sense Teal'c possessed urged him to move swiftly to obey his master, yet Teal'c could not tear his eyes from the woman he had both condemned and murdered.

"Jaffa, Kree!" Teal'c barked, snapping his gaze to the two lingering guards. "You have failed your Goddess. Remove yourselves from this palace."

The guards did not dare hesitate, and Teal'c glimpsed the relief they were unable to fully hide. The temper of their god was volatile, and though they had been ignored thus far, they could easily incite his wrath should their presence remain persistent. He gave them cause to keep their distance, which perhaps might divorce them of the entire affair in the eyes of their god and goddess. Within moments they had withdrawn, leaving Teal'c alone with the burden of sins.

It was a risk, Teal'c knew. Disposal was not a task that typically fell to the First Prime, and Teal'c knew it was a risk to take it upon himself. Any action that seemed out of place put him in only greater danger. But he would not let the same hands that had handled her so coldly in life abuse her in death. Samantha, for all her youth, had conducted herself with more honor than any being Teal'c had yet encountered. She deserved no further injustice.

He should not have allowed her to take the place of her friend; Teal'c had known in his heart that the desert woman was better suited. Samantha had nearly been claimed as a host for her trouble, and now she lay dead by his own hand. The two-fold tragedy could have been eluded if he had only listened to his instincts.

Teal'c knelt reverently. He gently took Samantha in his arms, and when she was cradled safely against his chest he rose. He strode with purpose from the room, studiously avoiding the unseeing gaze that haunted him. His feet took him through the corridors towards the middens, where her body would join the countless others of those who had run afoul of Apophis.

Even as he walked, Teal'c could not tear his thoughts away from the woman. At the corner of his vision he caught a glimpse of the precious trinket on the chain around her neck—the last gift from a lover she would never meet again. That person would always wonder what had happened to his beloved. Perhaps he would even search for her. Briefly, Teal'c imagined it was his Drey'auc who had been taken, or worse yet, Ry'ac. How would he accept never knowing what fate had befallen his family?

Thoughts of such a future sickened him. He turned the corner, and then strayed from his route with another quick right turn to a little-used corridor. He quickened his pace, hastened by the illicit change of direction. This hallway was much darker than the last, but Teal'c easily recalled it from his memories as a youth.

His destination was a room shrouded in dust. Teal'c shouldered his way inside, heart racing. No one had entered this room in many years. Decades ago, it was once the place a select few among Apophis' Jaffa came to be revived after falling in battle. Some were revived only to be executed in public for their failing, but others, those who sacrificed themselves in doing great deeds, were resurrected in honor.

It had seen neither purpose in many years, however, and now the machine Teal'c sought stood dormant. Even so, the sarcophagus opened when it sensed his approach, and its light sparked within, illuminating the small space in which he gently placed Samantha's body. With great care he straightened her legs, and folded her arms comfortably across her body. When Teal'c stepped away, the sarcophagus closed with its prize inside. The machine thrummed with energy, the sound pulsing in a rhythm soothing and continuous.

Teal'c cast his senses to the outer halls, listening carefully for any footsteps that might interrupt his vigil. Minutes stretched, and with each passing moment Teal'c felt an invisible noose tightening around his neck. He was treading a thin line. If he were caught, his life would be forfeit, and Samantha would perish once more. But if Apophis remained blind to his subterfuge, this small act may yet keep Teal'c's soul intact.


	18. Chapter 18

Sam woke with no air in her lungs. For an interminable moment, she thought she was drowning. Then her body remembered how to breathe. She choked, hacking on burning, wracking coughs that contorted her body. She tried to sit up, but her head bounced off a ceiling barely six inches above. _Oh, god._

She'd been buried alive. Panic stabbed her, making her heart trip against her ribs in a sharp stab of panic. Before she could scream, a loud grinding sound started vibrating the air around her. A narrow seam appeared in the stone coffin lid, then parted. The gap grew, revealing a widening glimpse of a golden room beyond.

She'd thought it had been a dream. She'd dreamed she'd died. But it wasn't a dream. Sam patted her sternum, shocked when she found herself whole and healthy. She _had_ been dead. She was sure of it. The word _sarcophagus_ flitted across her memory, even as a hulking shadow loomed over her. Before she could speak, a bundle of cloth smacked her in the face.

"Shroud yourself," came the gruff command. "Quickly."

Sam scrambled out of the sarcophagus, eager to escape its confines. As soon as she was clear of it, the top closed once more. Under the eyes of the guard, she quickly dressed. The cloth was rough, ragged, and sported several stains Sam didn't want to think about. But when Sam put it on, she found that it covered the delicate fabric of her gown completely. It even hid the hole burned away by the energy blast that had killed her. The guard who had spoken stepped forward, his face passing into light as he reached to pull a drape of cloth over head like a hood, covering her hair.

Sam blinked in recognition when she spotted the gold symbol on the man's brow. "You… you saved me." He was the one she'd spoken to, who had been asking her questions. He had also been the one to kill her. But then he had brought her here, revived her. "Why?"

Dark eyes regarded her, but yielded no response. "Keep your hair covered," he instructed firmly. Only the intensity of his gaze indicated he had even heard her. "Make eye contact with no one."

Sam nodded. Her hair and eye color—so common on Earth—was an oddity here, where so many were dark-complexioned.

"Follow me, and keep silent."

He led her from the room with powerful strides, forcing her to jog awkwardly behind him to keep up. Their path was unpopulated, leading Sam to surmise that no one else knew of her resurrection. From what she could tell, this part of the stronghold was largely unused, but they soon reached corridors that were filled with the sounds of travelers.

When one set of footsteps rounded a corner to their right, her savior spun and grabbed her painfully by the arm. Sam cried out in surprise as he dragged her fiercely, just in time for them to run head-on into a passing manservant.

"You!" Sam was unceremoniously tossed to the turbaned man. "Take this whore to the dungeon!" The slave bowed, and Sam kept her head low. "And you, peasant! Pray I never see your face again."

She didn't dare respond, and the guard didn't wait around to give her a chance to do so. The venomous words were the last he gave to her. There was something in his eyes as he'd said them hinted at the danger that existing for both of them. It was clear her resurrection had not been ordered or sanctioned. He had risked a great deal by returning her to life. She didn't get the chance to thank the guard, or even learn his name.


	19. Chapter 19

Charlie straightened as the gate slowly opened, its weight eliciting a torturous rumble of metal grinding on metal. He expected troops to enter, or at the very least some sort of guard, but was surprised when it was merely a servant. At least, he supposed it was a servant, as the man was turbaned and clean, wearing clothes that saw no wears, tears or were armored in the slightest.

Charlie stepped up side by side with Jack, ready to move as soon as the opportunity presented itself. With the gates open, it would be easy to blitz this one visitor and then overwhelm the guards stationed outside. It could be their one chance at escape. They would have one shot before the gates closed again.

They never got a chance to strike. The servant took one step into the prison before dragging a hunched form from behind him. With barely any effort he shoved the wretch into the prison, then turned and left as though he hadn't seen his victim stumble and nearly go careening down the shallow steps into the prison. Charlie was so distracted by the rapidly closing gates that he almost missed the familiar face hidden within the shredded shawl of their newest cellmate.

"SAM!"

Charlie started, jerking his gaze to Jack's beeline towards this newest cellmate. He saw the figure's head lift sharply at the call. The rags covering the lower half of her face dropped to reveal Sam's startled, elated grin. "Jack!"

Pushing through the crowd towards them, Charlie kept his eyes on his friends. Sam collided with Jack full force, flinging her arms around his neck and clinging to him like there was no tomorrow. Jack staggered slightly, but easily took her weight in his arms and pulled her tight. Charlie slowed his approach slightly, but when he saw the others converging, he took it upon himself to interrupt them first. He reached them in time to hear Sam's low exhalation against Jack's neck. "Thank you…"

Charlie let his eyes wander, finding sudden interest in the fashion of his alien neighbor. Though his concern pressed at the edges of his awareness, Charlie recognized the intimacy of his friends' reunion, and tried to shake off the unsettling sense of unintentional voyeurism. In the corner of his eye, Sam let her forehead rest against Jack's, their eyes meeting as a relieved grin ghosted over her lips.

"What took you so long?" she teased.

Jack chuckled, and the moment was broken. Charlie moved towards them, as Jackson and Cromwell finally caught up. Skaara was not too far behind with a curious grin on his face, clearly happy to meet the woman _O'Neel _had fallen for. Charlie placed himself in the only readily available space closest to Sam, purposefully maneuvering himself beside her in an attempt to keep her from being bombarded by strangers. As he did so, he bumped her shoulder lightly. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam nodded, glancing up at him in happy relief. "Yes. I'm okay." Her hand found his arm for a brief touch, then trailed down to give his fingers a soft squeeze. The contact was brief, and though the smile she gave him was tight and grim, he saw no deception in her eyes. She was all right, as well as she could be.

"I'm glad you're all right, Doctor Carter," Colonel Cromwell spoke up, inserting himself into the conversation. It had the desired effect. Sam and Jack separated, marginally, and Jack turned so as to give his commanding officer room to join their powwow. If Sam was surprised to see the man who had left Jack in desert, she didn't show it.

"Thank you, Colonel," she returned, with no hint of malice or spite. "I'm relieved to see all of you."

"I'm afraid we don't have much time, Doctor. Do you know the way out of here?" Cromwell asked, cutting straight to the point.

Sam shook her head, nearly dislodging the scarf from her head to reveal her blonde hair. She tugged it back into place, confirming Charlie's suspicion that she was attempting to draw as little attention to herself as possible. "Unfortunately not," she replied.

"You don't remember the route you took to get here?"

"I was brought here from another room deeper into the compound. It's no good—"

"Excuse me," Jackson said, butting in. "Sorry." He locked eyes with Sam. "Sorry, hi, um, I'm—"

"Doctor Jackson," Sam supplied. Daniel sputtered, surprised at the recognition. "I recommended you to Catherine Langford."

"Oh, well… thanks, then, I guess…"

"Your wife is here, Doctor Jackson." Sam delivered bluntly. Daniel's entire body tensed, and Charlie saw the man's hope surge to the surface. Since they'd come to this planet the archaeologist's patience and control had frayed, and the raw endings were now clearly evident to Charlie, and to Sam as well, it seemed.

"Sha'uri? You've seen her?" Sam nodded. "Where is she? Is she all right?"

"She was fine the last time I saw her," Sam informed him, before her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "But that was a while ago. We need to move quickly…"

She was interrupted by a sharp cry from the front of the prison. The sound of alarm amplified as the prisoners recognized the stomp of armored boots coming nearer. Cromwell motioned the team to be on guard, and Charlie let his hand drift towards his sidearm. The giant gates were swung inwards to admit a platoon of guards, complete with cobra-hooded helmets. A horn of fanfare blared thunderously across the enclosed space as the guards pushed through the roiling masses, carving a path through the crowd.

Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Sam duck her head, pulling her tattered scarf closer around her face. Jack stepped in front of her, hiding her from view. The rest of the team followed Jack's lead, subtly shifting into a loose formation around both of them. Charlie expanded his focus to include Daniel as well, who now stood closest to his right. The man was volatile, fueled by news of his wife. Charlie was aware of the very real risk he posed.

Four of the serpent-headed guards turned in their direction, and began to manhandle the prisoners into kneeling. It took only one or two blows to the knees to help the rest get the gist, and row by row they began to bow.

When the guards reached their group, however, they reached Skaara first. The boy squared his shoulders proudly, his features a petulant mask. He wouldn't bow. Charlie cursed silently when the kid spat at the guards boots.

"Kneel before your god Apophis!" one bellowed, the sound muffled yet deafening. "_Kree!_"

"_Nanei!_" Skaara was belligerent, and though Charlie was already moving to intercede, pride thrummed through him. "Never!"

Other figures filed in behind the guards during the exchange, and now watched loftily from their positions on the stone steps. They were clad in rich fabrics and bright colors, denoting their higher status. Charlie wondered their purpose for visiting the prison, but knew that their presence only added to the threat of Skaara's rebellion. With higher ups watching, it increased the chance of an example being made, an example that could result in swift execution.

Charlie snagged Skaara by the arm and tugged him away before blows could fall. "We gotta lay low until we find your sister," he muttered, keeping a firm grip on the kid's sleeve when he tried to pull free. "Skaara, if you gotta eat dirt, you'll eat dirt. You're not doing Sha'uri any favors if you get yourself killed now."

"They are _not_ gods!" Skaara hissed.

"I know that, and you know that," Charlie agreed. "But going with it will only help us, and if you don't they'll kill you. So let's just play it safe, huh?"

For minute, Charlie thought Skaara might spit at him too. But finally the kid bent his knees—still glaring daggers at the guards—and knelt. Charlie mimicked the motion, and a glance to his right saw that Jack was already down. Sam was huddled against his back, only a dirt-streaked hand visible as she kept her scarf in place. She shifted slightly as a new entourage entered, peeking around Jack's torso at the two figures entering.

Two were most prominent. One was veiled, hidden from view, but the male was proud and larger-than-life, despite his lean frame. The other figures were deferent to this pair; while they all were the snooty type, only one surveyed the crowd as though the kneeling prisoners were little more than ants. This was the would-be Ra. Apophis.

Satisfied that the room was appropriately subdued, Apophis turned towards his veiled companion. "Behold, your queen…" He lifted the veil, revealing a familiar face. "Amonet!"

Sam gasped in shock, as Daniel and Skaa'ra cried out in unison. "Sha'uri!"

The eyes that turned towards their cry were flat and dark. Gone was the curiosity that had saved their lives back in Abydos; it was like she was empty. But the inhuman glow sparked within them, Charlie knew that someone was still in there—just not who they were hoping for.

"Oh, god," Sam whispered, echoing the drop in Charlie's stomach.

Skaara darted forward too quickly for Charlie to catch him, his sister's name on his lips. Jack lost hold of Daniel a second later, and the archaeologist pushed the nearest guard aside with enough force to almost get through. Another guard was quicker on his feet, and felled Daniel with a single blow from a staff weapon. Daniel went sprawling, while another two snatched Skaa'ra up into a full-body hold. They turned to present him to Apophis, whose eyes flared in anger.

A haughty gaze scanned Skaara from head to toe, inspecting him. With one look, Skaara was reduced to little more than a piece of meat. Apophis snapped his gaze to the guards. "This one." He waved a gauntleted hand. "Kill the rest."

The false god then turned sharply on his heel, snapping the skirt of his overcoat out behind him. When he reached for Sha'uri, she took his arm immediately. They left together, and the guards followed with a struggling Skaara still trapped in their clutches. The other nobles trailed behind, and Charlie noticed that other prisoners had been plucked out of the crowd as well, and were dragged towards the gates.

"Sha'uri, wait!" Daniel pushed against the crowd, his eyes on the departing back of his wife. "Sha'uri!"

"_Nanei_! O'Neel!" Skaara's voice rang out across the growing sounds of panic.

"Skaara!" Jack surged towards the retreating figures, but ran into an impassable wall of armored bodies that began pushing the prisoners towards the back of the room. The gates began to close, cutting them off from Skaara and Sha'uri.

"Sha'uri!" Daniel pushed against the guards to no avail. "SHA'URI!"

The guards marched into closer formation, but not even the screams of SG-1's fellow prisoners could drown out Skaara's panic.

"O'Neel! O'Neel!"

The gates slammed home with a boom. SG-1 was trapped, locked in the same room with their executioners.


	20. Chapter 20

Teal'c listened to the fading curses of the boy as his fellow Jaffa carted him away. He had been cursed and slandered many times in the course of his duties as First Prime, but never with such vehement defiance. With his own betrayal fresh in his mind, and the strength of Samantha's will dogging his every moment, the words touched something within Teal'c, something he had been careful to sequester deep within his soul. The boy was held dear by Amonet's host; a brother, Teal'c suspected. Now the boy would suffer the same fate.

Unease filled him, and Teal'c forced himself to tune out the fading sounds of hate. He turned instead to survey the prison, regret hanging over him at the sight of the milling, cowering crowd. He expected no resistance—there never had been before. His attention caught on the wide blue eyes of the woman for whom he had defied his god. Resurrecting her had been a small act, a mere drop in a sea of owed penance. He had done it knowing his wife and son would suffer the consequences of his actions, should he ever be found out. It now seemed her death was inevitable. A treacherous voice in his mind whispered that he should have left her dead.

A staunch figure placed itself in front of Samantha's shrouded form. Her protector was a young man, who glared at him with the same courage Teal'c had seen in Samantha when she offered herself in place of her friend. It was an edge that no other slave had possessed, a force of will that refused to kneel. It was strength enough to strike a god to the ground.

Around him, Teal'c's Jaffa lined up to either side. They brought their staff weapons to bear; Teal'c echoed their movements, his limbs wooden. Choice had abandoned him—he could only follow his orders, or join these people in death.

"Wait!"

That woman! Samantha darted past her protector, and again placed herself between the Jaffa and their intended victims. The scarf fell to her shoulders, revealing rich golden hair that glinted in the torchlight.

"We can help these people!" Samantha declared, her voice ringing out clear against the muted screams of the others. She stood resolutely, unflinching even as the Jaffa primed their weapons. Teal'c hesitated, and in his moment of uncertainty, her guardian came to stand behind her.

"Help us," he joined in, adding his voice to hers. The man, little more than a youth, nodded his head in assurance. It was a strangely unnecessary gesture; Teal'c found he did not doubt the sincerity of Samantha's vow. "Help us help them."

Teal'c froze. When he was first named Prime, he had been blessed with the confidence of youth, gifted with such surety that his name would become legend. He'd planned to serve his god well, better than any before him had done. But his master Brat'ac had trained him, shown him he still had much yet to learn. And in so doing the seeds of doubt had been planted in his mind, the certainty of his place in the world had wavered, and ever since Teal'c had been perilously adrift.

His master Bra'tac had once told him that if he trained well, and did not lose sight of his desire to free his people, he would see the path to take. Now, seeing the two humans, hands clasped and eyes full of fire, Teal'c's certainty returned. In that moment, he saw his path laid before him—he need only have the strength to take the first step.

"Many have said that," he delivered, his voice even so as not to alert his fellow warriors of the decision he had made. "But you are the first I believe could do it!"

With a heave and a prayer, Teal'c whirled and fired a blast into the chest of his nearest Jaffa. The warrior fell, and Teal'c sent his staff weapon sailing towards the couple. With it he sent his future, his hopes, and his dreams. The woman, Samantha, caught the weapon. It was all in their hands now.

* * *

Sam caught the staff weapon faster than Jack could blink. Before he could wonder why the Jaffa had tossed it to her, and not to him, Sam handed the weapon to Jack. He instantly aimed towards the stunned guards. He saw their new friend snatch up the weapon dropped by the soldier he'd killed, and together, he and Jack fired again and again at the warriors. Energy blasts ripped past him, coming close enough to Sam that Jack risked reaching out to tug her behind him, using himself as a shield.

The enemy Jaffa fired back; many of their shots went wide, but behind Jack a few of the other prisoners screamed when a shot found its mark. Jack kept firing, again and again until the only Jaffa still standing was their new ally.

"Captain!"

Cromwell's voice cut through the din, drawing Jack's attention towards the rear of the prison. The Major pointed at the stone wall. "We need an exit!" he shouted.

Jack nodded. "Yes, sir!" He waved his free arm at them. "Make a hole!"

"Move! Move!"

Jack fired at the cleared section of wall, until the stones bulged and exploded through the far side. Beyond, Jack caught a glimpse of grass and gray sky through the smoke before bodies began to pour through the hole, blocking his view. Major Cromwell immediately began to direct people through the escape route, with Kawalsky and the other soldiers taking up a vanguard position around the panicked crowd.

They needed to _amscray _before someone called in the reinforcements. Jack turned back around, and his heart lurched painfully in his chest when he found nothing but empty air where Sam had been. Panic greyed the edges of his vision, until he saw her with the guard-turned-traitor. He trotted over to them in time to hear the big guy say, "I have nowhere else to go."

Jack took Sam's hand, clasping it tightly. The motion pulled both their attentions to him, and Jack cracked a crooked grin towards the man who had saved their lives. "For this, you can stay at our place," he offered, half-jokingly. "But we gotta go. Now." He tugged on Sam's hand, urging her to move, but she hesitated, eyes glued to the large Jaffa.

"Please," she said, "come with us."

Jack knew that tone. No one said no to that tone. It was gentle and warm; welcoming and reassuring. In it a person might hear whatever they needed to, to entice them into agreeing. The Jaffa was no exception.

With a nod, the warrior nodded, and when Jack and Sam took off towards their escape, the sound of metal boots trotted along behind them at a brisk jog. They slowed briefly as they passed Frank just outside the wall. "We have another plus-one, sir," Jack delivered. Cromwell's gaze travelled to the broad shouldered alien. The Jaffa straightened, jaw set, accepting whatever judgment may befall him.

When Frank then glanced to Sam, she gave a single resolute nod. Jack knew then that whoever this guy was, she had accepted him into the narrow sphere of influence she claimed as her own. Sam trusted him, and for now, Jack would trust her.

Frank Cromwell sighed. "Hell," he drawled, "the more the merrier."


	21. Chapter 21

Sam leaned against the rough bark of the nearest tree, sucking down a tight lungful of air. She'd never considered herself out of shape before, but after their mad dash to the trees her legs burned, and her head spun. Since she'd woken in the harem, she hadn't eaten or slept, and now she wished she had. She looked over at her Jaffa companion, who looked like he hadn't even broken a sweat.

His name was Teal'c; he had shared the intimate knowledge with her in the moments following the firefight in the prison, before he'd agreed to leave with them. He was the reason they were able to rest now; they'd run full tilt in the direction of the Stargate until Teal'c had suggested another route, one less likely to be guarded. Cromwell had signaled a brief pause, to give himself time to make a decision and for the refugees to get their second wind.

"Hey." Jack closed the distance between them, resting a gentle hand against the side of her neck. During their sprint, he'd remained close to her, but his attention had been on their surroundings, searching for signs of pursuit or ambush. Now, he looked at her and only her, and Sam returned his gaze with eyes that burned with tears. She'd thought herself so far from home; home had come in search of her, and here he was.

"Hey," she whispered back, gripping the pockets of his jacket. Her fists tightened painfully, and the zippers dug into the flesh of her palms. He was real. Not a dream.

"You okay?"

Sam nodded, biting out a grin. "Just out of breath." She huffed a laugh out between inhalations. "Remind me to work out more when we get home."

It wasn't what he really asked, Sam knew, but if she told him the truth now—no, not okay, not fine, scared out of her mind, she'd been _dead_ an hour ago—she wouldn't be able to stop. She'd crumble and that was _not _going to help get them home. She needed to stay focused, and Jack seemed to sense it.

He answered by pulling her to his chest, reassuring but firm, lacking the tenderness of true intimacy. It was exactly what she needed—his strength traveled through his embrace and settled in her shoulders. The next breath she pulled in was fortifying, and Sam was able to break the contact first. She nodded towards the small huddle of uniformed bodies off to her right, and Jack joined her in moving towards the debate in progress.

"This route will take us directly to the Stargate," Charlie was pointing out, indicating towards a map forged of pine cones, rocks, and dirt. "It's easy access and will help us move the civilians to safety faster."

Teal'c tilted his head in acknowledgement. "It is the least arduous. However, the gentle topography will also ease the chase of our pursuers, and they will be swifter than your party. If we move swiftly through the trees here," he pointed to a squiggly line of pine needles, "we will come over the ridge ahead of the Jaffa."

"But that's _if_ these people will be able to keep up," Cromwell rumbled, eyeing their exhausted new friends with a canny eye. Sam chose that moment to speak up.

"These people know what's at stake here, Major," she said, drawing his eyes to hers. "If they want to live, they'll keep up. It's up to us that they don't end up running straight into an ambush." She paused, then, taking a measured breath. "I think we should listen to Teal'c."

"Why?" The accusation came from a face Sam didn't recognize. Camouflage paint rendered his features indistinct, but the distrust in his eyes burned fiercely as he glared at the Jaffa in their midst. "He's one of _them_. He could be leading us right into another trap."

Jack scoffed loudly from over Sam's shoulder. "Wilson, if that's what he wanted, he would have just killed us back in that prison. He saved our asses, and killed a bunch of his people to do it. If he says going straight for the ridge is going to give us an edge, then I say we do it."

Wilson's glare turned to Jack, but he said nothing else. Sam observed Cromwell, who still seemed doubtful. "It's still a gamble," he delivered finally. He glanced briefly at Teal'c, but addressed Jack. "Regardless of his intentions, if his intel is wrong a lot of people are going to get killed."

"He's the best person to know the enemy's tactics, Major," Sam said. "He's their leader. Or commander." She met Teal'c's gaze, who lifted his chin under her regard. "That's why your emblem is different, isn't it?"

She didn't mention that Apophis had trusted him above all others to secure a worthy vessel for Amonet, or that it was Teal'c who was tasked with killing her. But she saw those same truths flicker deep within his gaze, along with shadows of darker things he secreted. His stony features revealed nothing, but she sensed his perception of her shift slightly. Perhaps he hadn't expected her to deduce his status amongst his god's ranks.

"Indeed," he returned, dipping his chin slightly in affirmation. "I am First Prime. I have led Apophis' Jaffa against his enemies in many battles."

Jack stepped further into the circle. His hand lingered at the small of Sam's back, reminding himself that she was safe. Sam found the contact comforting, and though she saw Frank's eyes notice the touch, she didn't move away. "Okay, answer something for me," Jack delivered, his tone deadpan. He paused for emphasis, one finger raised. Sam elbowed him to continue. "What's a Jaffa?"

The warrior's features hardened even further. "Jaffa are slaves to the Goa'uld. For centuries we have been born and bred to serve the gods."

Daniel seemed to perk up slightly. Though his eyes remained bright with angry tears, Sam saw him pull himself together enough to keep his voice from shaking. "You mean, like a warrior class?" Teal'c leveled a solemn gaze towards the archaeologist. "No," Daniel continued, thinking aloud. "No, it's more than that, isn't it?"

"You are correct," Teal'c responded. "It is a great deal more."

Sam looked between the two men. Tension slowly coiled in her chest, making it harder and harder to breathe. She remembered the shadowy room in which she'd died, and the brief, disjointed images that immediately preceded it. The ornately decorated woman, so revered and cared for—the monster in her belly. Her pulse raced as Teal'c reached for the flap of chain mail protecting his torso, and peeled it back to reveal the criss cross incision Sam dreaded to see.

A small symbiote emerged from within, poking its pale damp head into the light. The soldiers stared, some in disgust. None of them recognized it for the danger it was. Sam's body jerked reflexively, her hand clenching around Jack's. He looked at her, but she remained focused on Teal'c, and the secret he held. When he tucked the snake back into its pouch, Sam wrenched her eyes to his and found him looking back at her.

"It is an infant Goa'uld," Teal'c elaborated, "the larval form of the gods. I have carried one since I was a child, as all Jaffa carry one."

"Well, get it out of there!" Jack exclaimed, responding to Sam's apprehension.

"I cannot," Teal'c responded. "In exchange for carrying the infant Goa'uld into maturity, a Jaffa receives perfect health and long life. If I were to remove it, I would soon die."

Frank Cromwell resettled his stance. "And what happens when it grows to maturity?"

Sam inhaled, willing her heart to slow. She clenched her free hand to hide the tremor that had settled into her fingers. Teal'c held her gaze for a pointed moment, then turned to address the Major. "When the symbiote is fully mature, it is removed from the Jaffa. If it is deemed worthy, it will receive a human host through which it will enslave more human populations across the galaxy."

Daniel started, halting the task of rubbing his glasses dry. "You mean—" he shoved the wire frames onto his nose. "That _thing_ took over my wife?" Teal'c dipped his chin once. "And Skaara?"

"The boy was selected as the host for Klorel, son of Apophis."

Sam looked to Jack, whose features turned stony. Charlie ran a hand over his jaw, stifling a curse. It was up to Cromwell to get back to business. "All right people. We need to keep moving." He turned to Sam. "Doctor Carter, can you help get the rest moving?" She nodded. "And Teal'c ,start leading the way."

Wilson stood sharply, clearly displeased, but Sam trusted that he would follow orders. And if he didn't, she doubted the imposing Teal'c was in any danger from him. She broke away from Jack, swallowing her own trepidation as she made her way towards the small group of refugees waiting amongst the trees. Her legs shook; she pretended it was fatigue. She needed to hold it together.

This was no time for hysterics. Sam began herding the others towards the Airmen, who grouped around them in a protective formation. Teal'c set off at a brisk trot, leading them parallel to the tree line. The incline steepened, and Sam's legs immediately began to burn. She focused on that, and not the irrational fear building at the edges of her mind.

_Don't think,_ she urged her overactive mind. _Not now._ If she made it back to Earth alive, then she could freak out. For now, all she needed to do was run.


	22. Chapter 22

To Teal'c's credit, there was no ambush waiting for them. Still, Frank had been right; they were too slow. The terrain was too rough, and their party was tired. Enemy Jaffa caught up to them before they reached the ridge.

The first staff blasts caught one refugee in the chest. The force of the blow sent the man flying, before his body crumpled lifelessly on the ground. "Take cover!" Frank shouted. His men immediately responded, and the refugees followed their own instincts to do the same. Unfortunately, the nearest man to Frank was Teal'c, who crouched behind a thick tree not ten feet away.

Almost immediately the Jaffa began firing at his former comrade, his staff weapon firing again and again at the oncoming foe. Several fell, but more kept coming. Frank reached for his sidearm, only to remember it wasn't there. O'Neill had the only other weapon, and Frank could see the man was pinned down behind a boulder closer to the ridge, without a clear angle of fire.

"O'Neill!" The Captain's head snapped up. "The weapon!" Frank shouted, motioning for Jack to throw it. It was a risk: the thing was so unwieldly that O'Neill would have to throw it like a pike, to get it to cross the distance. And to do that he would have to break cover.

Jack raised up almost immediately, only to duck back down over Doctor Carter when enemy fire strafed the top of their boulder. Mild irritation sprung up when Frank saw the deep desire to protect the good doctor, but he quickly reined it back in. He knew going in that Jack's priority would be Sam, and so far Jack hadn't had any reason to disobey orders. However, the knowledge that Jack could and would to save her rankled against Frank's by-the-book training. No time to worry about that. Carter's hold on Jack's sensibilities was the least of Frank's concern.

Waiting for a lull in enemy fire, Jack popped up and hurled the weapon across the open field of fire. It circled a lazy cartwheel, its poor aerodynamics quickly slowing it and altering the otherwise perfect trajectory. It struck the ground outside of Frank's reach, its club end impacting the hard earth first. For a perilous moment, it swayed on its end, before it ever so slowly tilted towards Frank. He stretched and caught the barrel with his left hand, quickly dragging it under cover.

"Keep moving towards the ridge!" Frank bellowed. He saw Jack nod. "We'll hold them off!"

Trusting Jack to follow his orders, Frank focused on the weapon in his hands. He fumbled his way across the weapon's shaft, searching for the trigger. In the process he managed to prime it, the barrel splicing open with an electric crackle. His finger found the trigger and in an instant he rose to one knee, and fired.

His shot went wide to the left, the recoil from the blast unexpectedly abrupt. He tried again, and attempted to compensate by pulling the weapon tighter into his armpit. His instinct was to put the butt in his shoulder like he would a rifle, but the weapon's length wouldn't allow for that. He couldn't aim worth a damn. Distractedly, Frank lost focus of the enemy and looked down at the staff weapon, unseeing of the enemy about to flank him.

The whine of the Jaffa's staff weapon alerted him to his mistake, but then Frank was slammed against the boulder before he could react. He thought he'd been hit; a moment later, with no pain, he looked over his shoulder to see Teal'c, who had broken his own cover to shove him out of the enemy's line of fire. Frank glanced back to the left, and saw the would-be assassin flat on his back, a gaping, smoking hole in his chest.

Frank met Teal'c's eye, and the large Jaffa regarded him solemnly in return. Then, with a mutual nod, they returned to the task at hand. This time, Frank watched what Teal'c did, and as though the man could feel his gaze, Teal'c shifted his grip on his own staff weapon, lifting it atop his shoulder like an RPG. Frank mimicked him, and was vindicated when his target dropped like a stone.

"That's what I'm talking about!" he remarked, pulling the trigger again. Another Jaffa down. Together, they cleared the wave of enemy enough to risk breaking cover to follow in O'Neill's wake towards the Stargate, firing as they went. When the ground began to slope upwards beneath his boots, Frank almost believed they were home-free. But then he registered the thrum of engines, the unmistakable sound of an enemy aircraft swooping closer.

"INCOMING!"

* * *

Major Thoms never liked playing waiting game. Only the tactical value of his position kept him from extending SG-2's perimeter any wider than they already had. But when SG-1 had gone radio silent, a deep-seated dread had settled in the pit of his stomach. The place they'd set up camp wasn't all that different from Earth; in fact, the similarities had been uncanny. Except that the sky seemed to be a perpetual gray, and at night the dual moons cast the terrain into an eerie relief. On Earth, that kind of moonlight might have been beautiful, but in these unknown settings it left SG-2 exposed and all too visible. They'd gotten lucky; no intruders through their perimeters, and no arrivals through the Stargate.

Now, running into the final hours of their allotted 48 hours on the planet, the sounds of panic could be heard coming closer, punctuated by the unusual whine and thump of alien gunfire. Thoms was the first to the top of the ridge to recon the situation. He saw SG-1, and a whole lot more people than he expected to see, running towards the burm, and an ill-coordinated swarm of armored Jaffa chasing them. SG-1 was outnumbered, and if the vague movement further into the trees was any indication, the enemy's numbers would swamp SG-2 as well. But it wasn't until Thoms heard the drone of aircraft, though, that he felt the situation slide into the realm of defeat.

"Rodgers!" Thoms shouted in the radio on his vest. "Get the AT-4 and bring it to the ridge!"

An affirmative drifted up somewhere behind him. So far, the aliens didn't seem to notice SG-2 yet—their forces were converging on SG-1. Above, an alien craft zoomed close, strafing the ground with heavy blasts of energy. He could see Cromwell and—who the hell was that?—firing at the craft with what looked like the energy weapons the enemy used.

"Lay down cover fire!" Thoms commanded. "Cut a path to the 'gate!"

His men immediately opened fire. Rodgers bumped Thoms' shoulder when he hugged the turf, already firing. Thoms snagged the AT-4 from the Lieutenant's back. He would only have one chance and he needed to take it before more of the energy's fire was drawn to them. Sucking in a breath, he rose to his knees, bringing the launcher up. He aimed, then checked his backblast area. "Clear!"

His focus narrowed on the alien craft for a second more, and then he pressed the ignition. With a hiss and thump, the rocket snaked out of the tube and sailed up into the sky. It connected with craft in an explosion of fire and debris almost simultaneously with a momentary cessation of the ground fighting. His eyes tracked back to Cromwell and SG-1, who were already resuming their spring up the ridge.

A sharp cry caught his attention, and his attention snapped to a figure twisting under a cloak that had caught on fire, no doubt from a grazing staff blast. At first, Thoms thought it was one of the refugees, but when O'Neill helped the woman tear away the burning fabric, he recognized Dr. Carter immediately. Indescribable relief surged through him, despite the continued threat of enemy fire. She'd been their mission, and even if they got all these other people to safety, without her it would have been a hollow victory.

The thrill of triumph was cut short when Cromwell crested the ridge, breathing hard. "Tell me you got those claymores in place!" he shouted over the din. Refugees raced past him, intent on reaching the Stargate.

"Yes, sir!" he responded immediately.

"Fall back to the 'gate and blow them at my signal!"

Thoms moved to obey, but froze when an enemy soldier appeared over Cromwell's shoulder. Thoms nearly lifted his weapon, but the rest of SG-1 was joining them as well, and none of them looked twice at the large soldier in their midst. Thoms glanced at Cromwell.

"He's with us," came the blunt reply.

All right then. Thoms ordered his men back to the 'gate, and they all moved with sure movements to sweep down the hill, herding the refugees towards the cover of the 'gate. "Jackson!" Cromwell ordered. "Dial the 'gate!"

It was a smart move. Having the civilian dial home left the soldiers free to provide cover fire until the wormhole could engage. Except Jackson fumbled his notebook, dropping it and costing precious seconds. The enemy surged over the ridge, loud and far more numerous than the SG teams could hold off for long.

"NOW!" Cromwell's voice precipitated the loud explosion of the claymores, sending up plumes of rock and dirt and fire. The first wave of warriors fell, their broken bodies tumbling down the hill. The next wave hesitated only slightly before pushing past their apprehension. For a moment their victory seemed assured; halfway down the hill, they ran into the second line of claymores.

Thoms blew them without prompting, but by now the enemy had spread out beyond the reach of the explosives, and more than a dozen emerged from the edges of the blast radius.

"_Now_, Jackson!"

"I got it, I got it!"

On cue, the Stargate clanked loudly over the din of battle, and the increasingly familiar sound of a _kawoosh_ blossomed as the wormhole engaged. Thoms fired at the oncoming rush of alien soldiers. Their armor was tough, and more than a few of his bullets merely ricocheted off the thick metal plates. Some guards fell, though, and didn't rise. Around him, the smell of burnt powder drifted through the air, and the tang of metal settled into his senses as casing after casing ejected from chamber, reloading for his next shot.

Frank Cromwell turned to his second in command, sparing precious moments of focus to issue instructions. "O'Neill, get Doctor Carter back through the 'gate. Let the General know we're bringing some company to dinner."

"Yes, sir!" Jack rose, his hand tight on his girlfriend's. Thoms met Samantha's wide blue eyes for a brief moment, concern and alarm registering before O'Neill pulled her to her feet. For that split second, she seemed utterly overwhelmed, having nearly tripped over the body of a dead refugee coming down from the ridge. A moment later, though, her features hardened, and Thoms no longer saw a girl who had spent a good portion of her life in the White House. In another lifetime, Thoms suspected Dr. Carter might have made a great soldier.

Cromwell didn't wait to see that O'Neill obeyed his orders. He turned back to the battle, firing repeatedly at the onslaught of soldiers. There were dozens, with more pouring over the ridge even as the second wave fell beneath a spray of bullets. Rodgers went down, taking a staff blast to the chest. Thoms pulled his body behind the cover of the DHD, but it was a token gesture. No way the Lieutenant could've survived the hit.

"Get through the 'gate!" Cromwell shouted, waving Thoms towards the event horizon. "Go, go, go!" Thoms hauled Rodgers over his shoulder and moved towards the Stargate while Cromwell and Kawalsky laid down cover fire. Two more Jaffa went down, but more kept coming. Just before his boot hit the event horizon, Thoms heard Cromwell give the order to follow suit.

"All right, Captain, let's go!"

Thoms pitched himself into the event horizon, giving himself to the void with relief in his heart. They'd made it.


	23. Chapter 23

The vortex of the wormhole spat Sam out onto the metal grate of the embarkation ramp; her hand remained firmly clasped in Jack's, which only served to tangle them together as they rolled down the ramp. Freezing cold gripped her first, then the nausea of a tumultuous journey she'd made as a demolecularized matter stream. Her vision jolted, and she swallowed rapidly to keep the rising bile down.

"Deep breaths," Jack said softly. "It'll pass." His hand pressed gently against her frosty skin, the warmth of his touch melting the ice crystals. Sam had ended up mostly on top of him, and it took far more effort than she cared to admit to force her exhausted body up and away from him.

"Captain O'Neill! Doctor Carter!" Sam registered the half-dozen weapons pointed at the active wormhole, but she zeroed her focus on the familiar face quickly striding towards them.

"General Hammond, we have people coming in under fire," she said quickly, pulling Jack up to his feet. "Most are refugees—" Footsteps clamored against the grate at the head of the ramp, the first wave of huddled masses. Voices shouted at them, warning them to halt. "General—!"

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

Sam released a small sigh of relief when the airmen froze. The General's booming shout had caught their attention, cutting through the heightened senses of impending battle. Almost immediately, the soldiers focused, no longer an incohesive mob of guns. They cocked their ears towards the General, waiting for their orders.

"We have incoming friendlies under fire!" Hammond barked, letting his voice carry. "Funnel them towards the bulkheads, and keep your eyes peeled for any hostiles." He turned to the two nearest Airmen. "You and you are in charge of organizing the refugees. Get them off the ramp as quickly as possible, and keep them together. We don't want anyone caught in the crossfire."

"Yes, sir!" The men shouldered their weapons, already moving towards the huddled mass of former prisoners. As soon as he saw the rest of the Airmen redirect their attention to the still-open wormhole, Hammond turned to Sam.

She smiled, briefly, silently assuring him of her wellbeing before speaking. "There should be roughly two dozen refugees, General. They escaped with us."

Hammond nodded. "Understood. I don't know what the hell we're gonna do with them, but we'll figure it out."

"Major Cromwell and Thoms are holding the Stargate on the other side until the noncombatants can get through, General," Jack reported. The three of them stood just off the foot of the ramp, out of the way, but still able to jump in to help if necessary. "Sir, you need to know that—"

"HALT! Don't move!" The shout started with one Airman, the closest to the event horizon, but soon traveled to the others as they registered the large, formidable form of one of their enemy. Sam looked up, and saw Teal'c straighten where he stood, features a grim mask of resignation. Around him, rifles lifted, ready to fire, only to hesitate when the staff weapon in the Jaffa's hand remained pointed at the ceiling, nonthreatening.

"Whoa, hold up!" Jack's voice lifted, as did Sam's.

"Stop!"

"Sam!"

She darted up the ramp, slipping out of Jack's belated grab for her arm to place herself smack between Teal'c and the defending Airmen. Hammond's "Doctor Carter!" boomed across the crowded space, with enough force to make her start, but not so much that she moved from her position on the ramp. "What is the meaning of this!"

"This man saved all our lives, General," Sam declared, loud enough for all to hear. "He is the reason we made it back in time… at all!"

Hammond glared at her, then turned to Jack. "It's true, sir," came the quick affirmation. "He killed his own men to give us a fighting chance. They would have killed us if he hadn't."

A tiny muscle at the General's temple twitched in a frenzied staccato, the only indication that he was fazed at all. "He must relinquish his weapon."

Of course. Sam nodded, understanding. She turned her back to the room, focusing on Teal'c. She knew his life depended on her, now; if she screwed up, or if he resisted there would be no more hesitation. They _would_ shoot him. She looked up Teal'c; his eyes were scanning the faces behind the weapons, but turned his gaze on her.

"Teal'c, I need you to hand over your weapon." His eyes held hers, but the Jaffa made no effort to comply. "I trust you," she continued tautly. "But the people here don't know you yet. Until they do, you'll be treated as an unknown agent. You may be quarantined, you may even be restrained until they know you are as trustworthy as we claim. Do you understand that?"

Even as she spoke, her thoughts looked to the future. In her haste to escape the prison, and their pursuers, she hadn't stopped to think what it would mean for the former First Prime to come to Earth. He was a defector, but the U.S. government could very well refuse him asylum; he held an alien life form inside of him, for crying out loud. They could rip it out of him for study and leave him for dead.

Sam wouldn't let it come to that. She trusted that George Hammond would protect him, once the full story was shared, but he wasn't the top of the food chain. If he couldn't protect Teal'c, and if Sam's influence wasn't enough, she accepted that she would help him return to a planet where he would be safe. She owed him that.

Jack stepped up beside her, adding his voice to hers. "Giving us the staff weapon will go a long way, Teal'c. It's a big step towards them trusting you if you trust us."

Teal'c regarded him silently, though Sam sensed the Jaffa had already made up his mind. Inhaling deeply, his shoulders squared, his posture formal and direct. With both hands, Teal'c offered his staff weapon to Sam. She accepted it with a nod, hefting it lightly in her hands.

"Thank you, Teal'c," she responded. Around them, a dozen weapons lowered at a nod from General Hammond. The Jaffa didn't relax in the slightest; a sort of resignation fell over him. He'd relinquished his fate to them, as they had to him in the prison. But Hammond had allowed him some respect, honoring the trust he'd shown in them by relinquishing his weapon, and that went a long way.

She knew the weapon he'd handed her wasn't the same one that had killed her, but in looking at it, Sam had still expected it to fill her with some sort of dread, or grandeur. She at least expected it to weigh more. It felt only like a few pounds, and it was dead in her hands. It was just a weapon. The threat was in the warrior behind it, not the object itself. Down near the barrel of the weapon, Sam spotted a small seam—maybe Teal'c would let her take a look inside the weapon.

By now, the rest of SG-2 had come through the wormhole, and they surrounded the trio on the ramp as they cleared the wormhole. The result was a temporary moment of inclusion, a shield of protection for Teal'c as the men moved towards the back of the room, following the refugees. They did so without a second glance to Teal'c, which Sam saw did a lot to put the home team at better ease.

Jack clapped a hand on Teal'c's shoulder, grinning widely. At least Sam didn't have to worry about his feelings on the subject. Jack wasn't a cold person by any means, but there was a warmth he reserved for the people he fully accepted. She was one, Charlie another. She'd seen glimpses of it with Daniel Jackson, and now Teal'c. Good.

Two more sets of boots stumbled onto the ramp; Frank Cromwell and Charles Kawalsky burst through the wormhole, their breaths loud and ragged. "Shut it down!"

The hoarse edge to Cromwell's shout only hinted at the trouble trying to follow them home. But the system wasn't quick enough. Even if they had an airman on standby with his hand over the disconnect command, the energy of the wormhole wouldn't dissipate in time to keep the intruders from reaching Earth. Sam pulled Jack to the side of the ramp, out of the immediate path of incoming travelers, then sank to crouch behind him as he knelt, lifting his weapon to level it at the wormhole. A moment later she realized she still held Teal'c's weapon, leaving him completely defenseless.

Her cry to the warrior was swallowed by the squeal of metal scraping against metal. Giant armored plates emerged from the circumference of the Stargate, narrowly scissoring down until they joined in the center, interlocking with a sharp _shhing!_ Sam recognized the defense; it was hers. Before she could relax, however, a deafening thud echoed through the now silent room, then another right behind it.

Then the wormhole finally disengaged, and the iris shield retracted to reveal a dormant Stargate. Not a single body moved for a long, tense moment. Sam was the first to rise, and the rest relaxed as she sought for Jack's hand. Tucking her palm in his, she accepted his reassuring squeeze as General Hammond walked up the ramp to speak with Major Cromwell.

"What the hell is that, sir?" Cromwell asked, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the Stargate.

Hammond looked to Sam, and gestured for her to fill in the blanks. It was her design after all, her brain child. And on any other day, she could go on for hours about it: how she'd recognized the need for it, how she'd spent more than two months drawing out the specifics of every piece, and how it needed to be installed no more than a few micrometers from the event horizon of an active wormhole. But right now, she was exhausted. The adrenaline rush from their escape was rapidly dwindling, and she found herself leaning on the staff weapon in her hand like it was a walking stick.

"It's a titanium shield designed to prevent unauthorized travelers from breaching the facility through the Stargate," she said simply. "It's placed less than a millimeter from the event horizon, preventing anything from rematerializing on this side of the wormhole."

Cromwell waved towards the sleeping device. "And those thuds were…"

"Bodies," she responded. _Not just bodies_, her mind whispered. _They were people_. She blinked rapidly, dispelling the encroaching melancholy. "Well, not bodies, technically. Nothing forms, but the molecules need to go somewhere, so the sound you heard is a-actually—"

She was interrupted by a yawn, which she ineffectually attempted to hide. Hammond stepped in, regarding her with a gaze she vaguely remembered from her youth. "That's sufficient for now, Doctor Carter," he said, no longer as stern as he'd been a few moments ago. "Before anything else happens, I want you and SG teams 1 and 2 to be checked out by medical."

"General Hammond, about Teal'c—"

"You've done your part, Doctor Carter. I'll take it from here."

Not good enough. "General, he saved our lives!" Sam's voice lifted without her meaning to. Half a dozen eyes turned to her; even Teal'c arched a brow at her outburst, though he said nothing. "Sir," she began again, more calmly, "he was a respected commander in Apophis' court. He is a valuable source of intel, and willingly helped us to escape without harm."

Hammond slid a questioning glance to Cromwell. The Major nodded, confirming her story. "She's right, sir. Teal'c helped us out of the prison, and then helped us find the safest and quickest route back to the Stargate. He even helped hold the 'gate for the others to get through safely. Without his help we'd be very, very dead. He's an ally, and a damn good one at that."

"I promised him he would be safe here, General," Sam said. She hoped she didn't sound as desperate as she felt. Her mind was racing, remembering the way West had run his command. West wouldn't have hesitated to treat Teal'c as a prisoner, to lock him up and throw away the key. There would have interrogations, not interviews; demands, not agreements. For all she knew, he might have been safer back on his home planet, where he might have had friends to help hide him from harm. Here, he had friends in herself, Jack, and Cromwell, but their influence might not be enough—

Hammond's hands rested on Sam's shoulders, pulling her attention back up to him. "No harm will come to him while in my custody, Sam," he said, voice low. Low, but honest. "But we do have to take precautions, you understand?"

Her eyes darted to Teal'c, then back to Uncle George. She nodded.

"Captain O'Neill," Hammond continued, not taking his hands from her shoulders. "You are responsible for escorting Doctor Carter to the infirmary. Don't let her out of your sight until she's been cleared. Then make sure you both get something to eat. Quarters are being prepared for all of you to get some sleep before we begin the debriefing process."

By the tone of his voice, the process was going to be a long one. And Sam would more than likely be a part of each stage of it. They'll be curious about her experiences, about what she saw. They'd want to know anything about the Goa'uld that she'd observed. She'd have to tell them how she'd died. Her cheeks went numb at the thought. It had been a long day, and was looking to be even longer.

"And Captain, see if you can dig up some clothes for her as well."

Oh, yeah. And she was half-naked in a room full of soldiers. It was going to be a long, _long_ day.


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N: Here is the final chapter for Children of the Stars. The next story, Among the Stars, will pick up with the rest of the series. I hope you enjoyed the set up of this familiar but different 'verse. Thanks for reading, and for all the lovely review. This chapter is dedicated to all of you!_

* * *

Jack sat at Sam's bedside, his fingers interlaced with hers. Occasionally, her fingers tightened, or twitched. It was her only movement save for the faint rise and fall of her chest. Otherwise, she was dead to the world, and it unnerved Jack more than he would ever admit. The doctor assured him she was fine, just exhausted. On a practical level, he believed that. Sam had nodded off as soon as she was directed to an examination room. But it was hard to accept that she was uninjured when a hole the size of a softball had been burned out of the gown she'd been wearing. The hole had been just below her sternum, but there'd been nothing but healthy, unblemished skin beneath.

It was the recognizable proof of a mortal injury. That she was absolutely fine could mean only one thing: someone had put her in a sarcophagus. But why? To use her against her own people, as Ra had done to Daniel? And why kill her in the first place? Jack swallowed painfully, a lump hardening in his throat. She had _died_! She'd died and he hadn't been there for her.

The sound of the sheets rustling stirred him from his darkening thoughts. Jack looked up to see her moving, finally, her legs stretching as she rose to consciousness. Her fingers tightened their grip one last time, and held as her eyes blinked open. They focused on him, and slowly the sleep cleared. She smiled. "Hey," she whispered hoarsely.

He grinned lightly, shifting to the edge of his seat. "Hey," he said back. "How're you feeling?"

She didn't answer for a long while. Instead her eyes searched his, until they brimmed with tears and her hand slowly tightened in a death grip on his fingers. Alarm flooded his senses. "Hey, hey…" he said softly. "It's okay. You're home. You're safe."

Her hand tugged him closer, as he hopped from his chair to the edge of her bed, she levered herself up to meet him. Her arms surrounded him, hugging him tightly. Jack placed a hand on the back of her neck, gently stroking her hair as hot tears splashed against the edge of his collar. She trembled, but she was warm and solid—present. She was really okay.

"I didn't know if I would ever see you again," she whispered.

Jack pulled back, but refused to release her. He leaned back just enough to look into her eyes, his forehead pressing to hers. "I wouldn't have stopped looking for you," he vowed.

She shook her head, sniffling. "But it wouldn't have mattered. You could have searched for decades and still never… And if you hadn't come—"

Jack tightened his hold, silencing the rapid thoughts of pessimist possibility. He knew where she was coming from; he'd been doing the same thing since the minute she fell asleep. Somehow, they'd both managed to stay calm in the field, but now that the adrenaline-fueled focus had eased, horrific what-ifs flooded the void.

"I'm here," he told her. "You're here. That's all that matters." He brushed her tears away with his thumb, then cupped her cheek before she could look away. Looking up at him through tear-dampened lashes, he saw her accept his words as truth, and some of her fear faded. She nodded. "Everything is going to be okay. I promise."

* * *

From the doorway, Charlie blinked his headache away. He couldn't hear what his two friends were saying over the pounding in his ears, but he was acutely aware of the arrival of another party. He straightened from his lean against the door jamb, ready to discourage the newcomer, but relaxed marginally when it turned out not to be a hapless Airman, but rather Daniel Jackson.

"Any change?" the archaeologist asked in a gravelly voice. His eyes and nose were red from a recent crying jag, but Charlie didn't say anything. He liked to tease the archaeologist, but there was nothing funny about what had happened on the alien planet.

"She just woke up," Charlie responded. "She'll be okay."

Daniel poked his head around the edge of the door, and froze abruptly when he saw Jack and Sam. His eyes widened behind his glasses, his gaze glued to the intimate embrace between Charlie's two friends. At first, his cheeks flushed, then paled a second later. Jesus. Charlie remembered the kiss the archaeologist had shared with his wife back in the Abydos temple, and recalled how he'd likened the two of them to Jack and Sam. Sha'uri had only had eyes for Jackson, and the passion between the unlikely lovers had rolled off of them in waves.

And just like Jack had looked away from the open display of affection then, reminded of his own lost love, Daniel tore his gaze away from the tender tableau and retreated to the safety of the corridor. "I, uh…" His voice caught violently, which Daniel covered with a rough cough. Ripping his glasses from his nose, he set about cleaning them with a corner of his shirt, avoiding Charlie's gaze. "The General said, ah… he wanted to know as soon as Doctor Carter woke up. He, uhm… wants that debrief, so... Could you—?"

Charlie nodded his understanding, relieving the archaeologist of his mission. "I'll let 'em know. Thanks."

Daniel murmured his own thanks, then bolted. Charlie watched until the kid turned the corner out of sight before returning his gaze to the pair on the hospital bed. Charlie understood where Daniel was coming from. Eventually, he too would feel sick to his stomach about Skaara and Sha'uri. But right now, he felt nothing but relief. Sam was safe, and that was all that mattered.

He glanced into the infirmary, and seeing his friends still speaking softly to each other, he decided to see a doctor about some aspirin for his headache. Then, when he got back, he'd tell them about Hammond. They deserved just a few more minutes to themselves. They'd earned it.


End file.
